AB'OOKOFVERSES 

•  NIXON -WATERMAN 


A  BOOK  OF  VERSES 


A BOOK  OF 
VERSES 

NIXON  WATERMAN 


FORBES  6  COMPANY 

BOSTON  6  CHICAGO 

MDCCCC 


by 
NIXON   WATERMAN 


SECOND   PRINTING 
COMPLETING  THIRD  THOUSAND 


TITLEPAGE  AND  COVER  DE 
SIGN    BY    HOWARD    BOWEN 


Contents 


A  Bachelor's  Reverie 56 

A  Day-Dream      ..     .     .     . 195 

A  Dream  at  the  Desk 79 

A  Fo'cas'le  Ballad 114 

A  Happy  Family 198 

A  Love  Song 68 

A  Middle-Aged  Love  Story     .     . 48 

A  Mining-Camp  Incident  . 158 

An  Autumnal  Reverie 169 

An  Idol  of  Clay   ...........  58 

An  Old-Fashioned  Picture 108 

An  Old  Man's  Love 103 

An  Open  Letter  to  the  Pessimist 120 

A  Robin's  Song  at  Daybreak 36 

A  Rose  to  the  Living 9 

A  Thrush's  Song 96 

Aunt  Lucinda's  Cookies 173 

A  Walk  through  the  Woods 37 

A  Winter  Reverie 87 

Bitter-Sweet    ......     T 71 

Broken  Dolls 226 

Hi 


Contents 

PAGE 

Could  We  but  Know 74 

Deacon  Skinner's  Idee 146 

"Don't!" 212 

Easyville 144 

Environment 52 

Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd 66 

Field  Flowers 65 

Following  the  Band 178 

For  her  Dear  Sake 27 

Friends 93 

God  only  Knows 94 

Graduation-Day  Essay 128 

Grandfather's  Reverie 141 

Hank  Haines's  Philosophy 156 

Her  and  Me 98 

House  and  Home 113 

"How  be  Ye,  Jim?" .  133 

I  Got  to  Go  to  School 221 

In  the  Firelight roi 

I  Wish  and  I  Will 201 

June 49 

Just  Common  Folks 20 

Life's  Springtime 77 

Life's  Ways 18 

Linden  Street 25 

Love  and  Reason 24 

Me  an'  'Liza  Jane 166 

iv 


Contents 

PAGB 

Memories 45 

Mother's  Apron-Strings      . 184 

My  Castle  in  Spain 38 

My  Castle  of  Gold .  13 

My  Lady's  Heart 44 

My  Old  Hobby-Horse 205 

My  Uncle  Charley    ..........  215 

Nature's  Promise      ..........  100 

Now  and  Waitawhile 192 

Once  in  a  While n 

Our  Dark-Day  Friends no 

Peace  on  Earth 64 

Recompense in 

Regarding  Santa  Claus 218 

Serenade 76 

Since  Papa  doesn't  Drink 210 

Take  it  Easy 164 

Thanksgiving 10 

That  Little  Back  Room,  Top  Floor 69 

The  Angelic  Husband 123 

The  Battle  along  the  Shore 29 

The  Child  and  the  Butterfly 214 

The  Children  of  Earth 81 

The  Dream-Song 15 

The  Empire  Ship .  42 

The  Every-Day  Poet 135 

The  Garden  of  Genius 85 

v 


Contents 


PAGE 


The  Girl  who  Loved  Him  so 125 

The  Golden  Age 177 

The  Joy-Bringer 207 

The  "  Jumpin'-off  Place  " 162 

The  Land  of  Dreams 83 

The  Life  School 200 

The  Man  in  the  Cab 116 

The  Moonbeam's  Message 91 

The  Mother's  Dream 180 

The  Old  Bell-Cow 175 

The  Old,  Old  Story 54 

The  Old  Wife 34 

The  Perfect  Day 112 

The  Playhouse 50 

The  Prairie-Fire 31 

The  Procrastinationist 154 

The  Red  Rose 106 

The  Rose  and  the  Lily 17 

The  Second  Table 223 

The  Secret  of  Success 190 

The  Song  the  Kettle  Sings 59 

The  Unwritten  Letter 186 

The  Village  Genius 130 

The  Way  to  Sleepytown 203 

The  Whistling  Boy 188 

The  Wine  of  Life 23 

The  World's  Victors 182 

vi 


Contents 

PAGE 

The  Worshippers 132 

The  Year's  Delights 47 

To  the  End 75 

Toward  Sunset 72 

Uncle  Nathan's  Notion      .     .     .     .     .     .     .     ^  148 

When  Grandma  Shuts  her  Eyes 62 

When  Shakespeare  Wrote 122 

When  She  was  Near 40 

When  the  Summer  Boarders  Come 150 

When  the  Train  Comes  in 137 

When  to  be  Happy 118 

Which  Road? 22 

"Whither?" 171 

Yellow  Butterflies 89 


vii 


A   BOOK   OF  VERSES 


A    ROSE   TO   THE   LIVING 

A     ROSE  to  the  living  is  more 

Than  sumptuous  wreaths  to  the  dead  ; 
In  filling  love's  infinite  store, 
A  rose  to  the  living  is  more, 
If  graciously  given  before 

The  hungering  spirit  is  fled,  — 
A  rose  to  the  living  is  more 

Than  sumptuous  wreaths  to  the  dead. 


THANKSGIVING 

T T 7ERE  there  no  God,  I  still  would  thank  The 

Source,  though  all  unknown, 
Wherein  are  born  the  joys  of  men,  the  gifts  I  call 

my  own. 
The  heart  impels  the  tongue  to  speak  since  to 

my  lot  belong 
A  woman's  love,  a  sheaf  of  grain,  a  lily  and  a 

song. 

The  savage  beast,  the  poison  vine,  the  evil  of  the 

earth,  — 
I  know  not  if  the  good  and  bad  were  only  one  at 

birth ; 
But  all  the  world   seems  gracious   when    I    set 

against  the  wrong 
A  woman's  love,  a  sheaf  of  grain,  a  lily  and  a 

song. 


10 


ONCE   IN  A  WHILE 

in  a  while  the  sun  shines  out, 
And  the  arching  skies  are  a  perfect  blue ; 
Once  in  a  while  mid  clouds  of  doubt 

Hope's  brightest  stars  come  peeping  through, 
Our  paths  lead  down  by  the  meadows  fair, 

Where  the  sweetest  blossoms  nod  and  smile, 
And  \ve  lay  aside  our  cross  of  care 
Once  in  a  while. 

Once  in  a  while  within  our  own 

We  clasp  the  hand  of  a  steadfast  friend ; 

Once  in  a  while  we  hear  a  tone 

Of  love  with  the  heart's  own  voice  to  blend ; 

And  the  dearest  of  all  our  dreams  come  true, 
And  on  life's  way  is  a  golden  mile; 

Each  thirsting  flower  is  kissed  with  dew 
Once  in  a  while. 

Once  in  a  while  in  the  desert  sand 
We  find  a  spot  of  the  fairest  green ; 

Once  in  a  while  from  where  we  stand 
The  hills  of  Paradise  are  seen; 
ii 


Once  in  a  While 

And  a  perfect  joy  in  our  hearts  we  hold, 

A  joy  that  the  world  cannot  defile ; 
We  trade  earth's  dross  for  the  purest  gold 
Once  in  a  while. 


12 


MY   CASTLE   OF   GOLD 

IF  the  fairies  should  build  me  a  castle  of  gold 
And  wreathe  it  with  flower  and  vine, 
And  set  it  with  jewels  of  value  untold, 

And  fill  it  with  music  and  wine ; 
T  would  still  be  a  sorrowful  prison  of  gloom, 

My  spirit  would  long  to  be  free, 
And  Love  would  lie  weeping  his  grief  in   the 

tomb, 
Were  you  ne'er  to  share  it  with  me. 

Should  the  Fates,  in  the  sorriest  hut,  say  I  must 

Forever  abide,  to  their  law 
I  would  happily  bow ;  I  would  live  on  a  crust, 

I  would  lie  on  a  pallet  of  straw, 
I  would  crown  me  with  thorns,  I  would  fervently 
pray 

My  joy-time  might  never  be  o'er, 
If  you,  O  my  love  !  could  pass  by  every  day 

And,  smiling,  look  in  at  the  door. 


My  Castle  of  Gold 

For  you  are  my  marvelous  castle  of  gold, 

And  you  are  my  flower  and  vine, 
And  you  are  my  jewels  of  value  untold, 

And  you  are  my  music  and  wine. 
Alone,  and  a  famine  stalks  close  at  my  side, 

The  joys  of  the  living  have  ceased ; 
With  you,  and  the  world  is  as  fair  as  a  bride, 

And  filled  with  a  fount  and  a  feast. 


THE   DREAM-SONG 

,  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain,  the  rain, 
The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain ; 
The  sweet,  sad  song  the  whole  night  long 

Is  sung  in  my  drowsy  brain. 
In  a  dream  I  rest  in  the  old  home  nest, 

And  my  mother  comes  again 
As  came  she  oft  with  a  step  as  soft 
As  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain, 

The  rain, 
The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain. 

Oh,  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain,  the  rain, 

The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain : 
As  it  weaves  the  woof  of  the  song  on  the  roof 

With  the  warp  of  the  sound  at  the  pane. 
And  my  dream-ship  sails  with  the  happy  gales 

That  ripple  the  broad,  blue  main, 
While  the  waves,  soft-tossed,  in  my  dreams  are  lost 

Mid  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain, 
The  rain, 

The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain. 


The  Dream-Song 

Oh,  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain,  the  rain, 

The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain ; 
Like  the  drowsy  croon  of  bees  in  June 

Is  the  song  and  the  soft  refrain. 
And  I  drift  away  through  a  golden  bay 

By  the  shores  of  my  castled  Spain, 
While  my  soul  grows  young  in  the  dream-song  sung 

Mid  the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain, 
The  rain, 

The  drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  rain. 


16 


THE   ROSE   AND  THE   LILY 

A    RED  rose  in  the  garden  sighed 
*  *     To  be  the  south  wind's  happy  bride, 
And  when  the  rover  wooing  came 
Her  heart  with  love  was  all  aflame. 
With  honeyed  word  and  soft  caress 
He  won  his  bride  of  loveliness, 
And  all  her  leaves  so  warm  and  fair 
He  scattered,  ah  !  I  know  not  where. 

A  stately  lily,  standing  near, 
From  every  wooer  turned  her  ear 
With  dignity  that  nearly  froze, 
As  though  to  chide  the  foolish  rose. 
Nor  came  there  lover  with  the  art 
To  charm  her  cold,  unfeeling  heart; 
She  glanced  disdainfully  at  them 
Until  she  withered  on  her  stem. 

Oh,  mingled  joys  that  blight  and  bless ! 
Which  knew  the  truer  happiness, — 
The  lily  pure  with  heart  of  frost, 
Or  warm,  red  rose  that  loved  and  lost  ? 
2  17 


LIFE'S  WAYS 

'"TT^HE  ways  are  long  I  walk  alone, — 

•*•        The  fields  are  dull  and  dreary ; 
The  paths  are  set  with  thorn  and  stone,  • 

My  heart  is  worn  and  weary. 
But  skies  are  all  a  tender  blue, 

And  filled  with  sunny  weather, 
When  in  the  paths  of  joy  we  two 

Walk,  hand  in  hand,  together. 

I  hear  the  happy  thrushes  tune 

Their  song  in  bush  and  bower; 
I  hear  the  bees  their  story  croon 

From  honeyed  flower  to  flower. 
The  music  stirs  me  with  distress,  — 

I  cannot  kindly  bear  it, 
For,  oh,  there  is  no  joy  unless 

Your  heart  with  mine  may  share  it. 

Oh,  come  with  me  and  glad  the  way 
With  eyes  of  beauty  smiling ; 

December  seems  as  glad  as  May 
In  your  divine  beguiling. 
18 


Life's  Ways 

For,  though  we  stray  through  gardens  fair, 

Or  weary  wastes  of  heather, 
The  paths  are  good  and  golden  where 

We  two  may  walk  together. 


JUST   COMMON   FOLKS 

A    HUNDRED  humble  songsters  trill 
•**-     The  notes  that  to  their  lays  belong, 
Where  just  one  nightingale  might  fill 

The  place  with  its  transcendent  song. 
Fame  comes  to  men,  and  with  its  smile 

Some  favored  soul  with  greatness  cloaks, 
And  leaves  a  thousand  else  the  while 

To  be  for  aye  just  common  folks. 

If  only  sweetest  bells  were  rung, 

How  we  should  miss  the  minor  chimes ! 
If  only  grandest  poets  sung, 

There  'd  be  no  simple,  little  rhymes. 
The  modest,  clinging  vines  add  grace 

To  all  the  forest's  giant  oaks, 
And  mid  earth's  mighty  is  a  place 

To  people  with  just  common  folks. 

Not  they  the  warriors  who  shall  win 

Upon  the  battlefield  a  name 
To  sound  above  the  awful  din  ; 

Not  theirs  the  painter's  deathless  fame ; 
20 


Just  Common  Folks 

Nor  theirs  the  poet's  muse  that  brings 
The  rhythmic  gift  his  soul  invokes : 

Theirs  but  to  do  the  simple  things 
That  duty  gives  just  common  folks. 

They  are  the  multitudes  of  earth 

And  mingle  ever  with  the  crowd, 
Elbowing  those  of  equal  birth, 

Where  none  because  of  caste  is  proud. 
Bound  by  a  strange,  capricious  fate, 

That  ofttimes  its  decree  revokes, 
Between  the  lowly  and  the  great 

Are  millions  of  just  common  folks. 

Fate  has  not  lifted  them  above 

The  level  of  the  human  plane  ; 
They  share  with  men  a  fellow-love, 

In  touch  with  pleasure  and  with  pain. 
One  great,  far-reaching  brotherhood, 

With  common  burdens,  common  yokes, 
And  common  wrongs  and  common  good  — 

God's  army  of  just  common  folks. 


21 


WHICH    ROAD? 

TF  you  could  go  back  to  the  forks  of  the  road, 

Back  the  long  miles  you  have  carried  the  load ; 
Back  to  the  place  where  you  had  to  decide 
By  this  way  or  that  through  your  life  to  abide ; 
Back  of  the  grieving  and  back  of  the  care, 
Back  to  the  place  where  the  future  was  fair,  — 
If  you  were  this  day  that  decision  to  make, 
O  brother  in  sorrow !  which  road  would  you  take? 

Then  suppose  that  again  to  the  forks  you  went 

back, 

After  you  'd  trodden  the  other  long  track ; 
After  you  'd  found  that  its  promises  fair 
Were  all  a  delusion  that  led  to  a  snare,  — 
That  the  road  you  first  travelled  with  sighs  and 

unrest, 
Though  dreary  and  rough,  was  most  graciously 

blest, 
With  balm  for  each  bruise  and  a  charm  for  each 

ache,  — 
O  brother  in  sorrow !  which  road  would  you  take? 

22 


THE  WINE   OF   LIFE 

YOU  'd   call    her   plain-faced,    did    you   pass 
her  by 

In  an  unthinking  mood,  nor  hear  her  speak, 
Nor  catch  the  soul-light  burning  in  her  eye, 

Its  flame  close-hidden  by  her  modest  cheek. 
But  love  is  everything.     Who  stops  to  think 

Upon  the  pattern  of  the  flagon  when 
He  knows  't  is  filled  with  the  divinest  drink 
The  gods  have  proffered  to  the  lips  of  men ! 


LOVE   AND   REASON 

'  I  VHE  lily's  lips  are  pure  and  v/hite  without  a 

touch  of  fire; 
The  rose's  heart  is  warm  and  red  and  sweetened 

with  desire. 
In  earth's  broad  fields   of  deathless   bloom  the 

gladdest  lives  are  those 
Whose  thoughts  are  as  the  lily  and  whose  love  is 

like  the  rose. 


24 


LINDEN   STREET 

QNUG  Linden  Street  is  good  and  fair, 
^     With  modest  homes  all  in  a  row, 
And  many  a  little  garden  where 

The  quaint,  old-fashioned  roses  grow. 
And  when  at  eve  the  happy  birds 

Nest  where  the  whisp'ring  tree-tops  meet, 
Fond  lovers,  with  their  honeyed  words, 

Walk,  hand  in  hand,  through  Linden  Street. 

It  is  not  grand,  it  is  not  wide,  — 

This  little  street  I  love  so  well,  — 
Yet  in  its  quiet  grace  abide 

The  joys  my  tongue  can  never  tell. 
When  from  its  happy  scenes  I  stray 

And  lose  the  charm  so  strange  and  sweet, 
My  dreams  by  night,  my  thoughts  by  day 

In  rapture  turn  to  Linden  Street. 

How  often,  when  a  child,  I  felt 

This  dear,  old  earth  must  seem  forlorn 

To  sorry  hearts  that  never  dwelt 
Within  the  street  where  I  was  born ! 
25 


Linden  Street 

And  even  now  I  dare  to  think 

The  charm  of  life  is  more  complete 

To  those  whose  favored  eyes  may  drink 
The  joy  that  dwells  in  Linden  Street. 

Yet  Grief  has  sprinkled  with  her  tears 

This  street  where  happy  children  play, 
And  sun  and  shadow,  through  the  years, 

Have  blended  as  they  blend  to-day. 
But  mid  the  ever-changing  scene, 

Of  lagging  cares  and  pleasures  fleet, 
Through  Winter's  gray  and  Summer's  green 

Has  shone  the  grace  of  Linden  Street. 

I  look  upon  the  map  and  see 

The  far-spread  lands  that  make  the  earth, 
Yet  all  are  but  a  map  to  me 

Beyond  the  land  that  gave  me  birth. 
And  here  I  seek  my  sacred  shrine,  — 

Love's  blissful  world  with  joys  replete, 
That  God  has  given  me  and  mine,  — 

Our  little  home  in  Linden  Street. 


26 


FOR  HER  DEAR  SAKE 

TT  OR  her  dear  sake  I  'd  have  her  skies 

As  bright  as  are  her  own  bright  eyes, 
And  all  her  day-dreams  warm  and  fair 
As  is  the  sunshine  in  her  hair. 
The  Fates  to  her  should  be  as  kind 
As  are  the  thoughts  in  her  pure  mind; 
And  every  bird  I  'd  have  awake 
Its  gladdest  song  for  her  dear  sake. 

For  her  dear  sake  I  'd  have  each  dart 
Grief  fashions  for  her  tender  heart 
Aimed  at  my  own  thrice  happy  breast, 
That  hers  might  have  unbroken  rest. 
She  feel  life's  sunshine,  I  its  rain ; 
She  steal  my  pleasure,  I  her  pain ; 
Her  path  of  roses  I  would  make, 
And  mine  of  thorns,  for  her  dear  sake. 

If  she  should  fall  asleep  and  lie 

So  still,  so  very  still,  that  I 

Would  know  her  soul  had  slipped  away 

From  her  divinely  moulded  clay, 


For  her  Dear  Sake 

Then,  looking  in  her  fair,  white  face, 
I  'd  pray  to  God  :   "  In  thy  good  grace, 
O  Father !  let  me  sleep,  nor  wake 
Again  on  earth,  for  her  dear  sake." 


28 


THE  BATTLE  ALONG  THE  SHORE 

'  •  VHE  Seven  Seas  are  leagued  as  one 

•*"     In  war  against  the  Earth  ;     . 
They  are  joined  in  awful  strife  begun 

When  the  great  God  gave  them  birth. 
By  day  and  night  they  force  the  fight 

And  curse  in  a  sullen  roar, 
As  with  clenched  hands  they  beat  the  sands 

In  the  battle  along  the  shore. 

But  ever  the  Earth  hurls  back  their  shock 

From  thick-walled  forts  he  rears 
On  cape  and  headland,  hewn  of  rock, 

To  stand  ten  thousand  years. 
The  mad  waves  sweep  and  lash  and  leap, 

And  pound  at  gate  and  door, 
But  the  old  Earth  laughs,  as  their  foam  he 
quaffs, 

In  the  battle  along  the  shore, 
29 


The  Battle  along  the  Shore 

The  wars  of  men  shall  come  and  go, 
And  the  maps  shall  all  be  changed ; 

The  passing  things  that  mortals  know 
Shall  all  be  disarranged. 

But  till  the  last  long  day  is  passed 
And  time  shall  be  no  more, 

The  Earth  and  Sea  at  war  shall  be 
In  the  battle  along  the  shore. 


THE  PRAIRIE-FIRE 

T  T  7AKE,  good  Muse  !  My  pen  inspire, 

Let  me  sketch  the  prairie-fire ; 
Let  me  draw  it  as  I  saw  it  in  the  olden,  golden 

days, 

In  the  Indian  summer  weather, 
When,  with  wind  and  sun  together, 
Grew  the  grasses  ripe  and  ready  for  the  coming 
of  the  blaze. 

Like  a  vast  Sahara  —  sombered, 
Frost-browned  —  stretched  the  miles  unnum 
bered, — 
Waving  wastes  that  dipped  and  dappled  to  the 

wide  world's  distant  rim; 
And  my  father's  cabin  nesting 
In  the  vasty  reach  seemed  resting 
Like  a  shrine  of  shade  and  shelter  for  the  joy  of 
his  and  him. 

31 


The  Prairie-Fire 

Shone  the  sun  a  drowsy  dullard, 
Bronzed  his  brows  or  copper-colored, 
All    his    brightness    shrouded,    clouded,   all  his 

glances  toned  and  tame ; 
While  in  silken  shreds  came  sifting 
Ashen  ghosts  of  grasses  drifting 
On  the  breath  of  breezes  stealing  from  the  far-off 
feasts  of  flame. 

On  the  sky-line,  wide,  upwelling, 
Graver  grew  the  smoke-wreaths,  swelling 
Till  the  heavens,  dimmed  and  darkened,  met  and 

mingled  with  the  night, 
When,  upon  the  gale,  swift-sweeping, 
Fierce-flung  fronts  of  flame  came  leaping, 
Tossing  skyward  all  their  torches  till  the  clouds 
burned  brassy  bright. 

'Twixt  its  fire-guards,  many-furrowed, 
Safe  our  little  cabin  burrowed ; 
Meek  and  mute  defiance  bidding  to  the  foes  that 

would  destroy: 

Oh, that  roar  like  distant  thunder! 
Oh,  that  night  of  weirdest  wonder! 
Oh,  that  picture  plainly  pencilled  in  the  brain- 
book  of  a  boy ! 

32 


The  Prairie-Fire 

Came  the  morning  sun,  upspringing, 
All  his  golden  gleams  far  flinging; 
But  the  fenceless  fields  of  prairie  held  the  ebon 
hue  of  night,  „ 

Till,  in  dreams  of  shine  and  shower, 
Velvet  plain  and  spring's  fair  flower, 
Lay  they  wrapped  in  softest  slumber  under  win 
ter's  robe  of  white. 


33 


THE   OLD   WIFE 

Ti/TAKE  the  old  wife  young  again, 

Twine  the  roses  in  her  hair; 
Tell  her,  as  you  told  her  then, 

"  You  are  wonderfully  fair !  " 
Look  into  her  eyes  and  say,  — 

Smile  and  say  it  through  your  tears, 
"  You  are  dearer  every  day, 

Nearer,  dearer  with  the  years  !  " 

Hold  her  hand  in  kindly  grasp,  — 

Once  you  pressed  it  to  your  lips, 
While  its  tender,  velvet  clasp 

Thrilled  you  to  your  finger-tips. 
Kiss  her  faded  cheek  and  brow 

With  a  love  so  warm  and  true 
They  shall  glow  with  crimson,  now, 

Blushing  as  they  used  to  do. 

To  the  sunset  of  your  lives, 
Lead,  oh,  lead  her  gently  on. 

Love  until  the  end  survives 

With  the  freshness  of  the  dawn. 
34 


The  Old  Wife 

Drift  amid  its  golden  gleams 
Out  across  the  sunlit  seas, 

On  a  pillow  made  of  dreams, 
And  a  couch  of  memories. 


35 


A  ROBIN'S   SONG  AT  DAYBREAK 

TTALF-WAY  between  the  dark  and  dawn, 

Ere  day  had  come  or  night  had  gone ; 
Somewhere    between   the    bliss    of   dreams   and 

dread  of  waking  wearily, 
Still  half  unconscious  that  I  heard, 
There  came  the  far,  faint  voice  of  bird, 
The   welcome    daybreak    greeting    of    a    robin 
singing  cheerily. 

The  song  seemed  like  a  ribbon  slight 
Drawn  'tween  the  realms  of  day  and  night, 
And  as  I  listened   to  the  notes  my  heart  went 

beating  merrily; 

Would  that  the  world  on  waking  from 
Its  dreams  to  toil  might  ever  come, 
Joyed   by   the    daybreak   welcome   of    a   robin 
singing  cheerily. 


A  WALK  THROUGH   THE   WOODS 

A     WALK  through  the  woods  in  September 

Is  bliss  I  can  never  define ; 
The  red  leaves  that  glow  like  an  ember 

Make  gorgeous  the  tree  and  the  vine. 
With  earth  and  the  sky  for  my  teacher 

I  worship  with  sun  and  with  sod, 
Forgetting  the  priest  and  the  preacher, 

For  now  I  am  walking  with  God. 

The  hills  are  as  hymns  of  high  pleasure, 

The  valleys  as  rosaried  rhyme, 
And,  set  to  the  loftiest  measure, 

The  forest  an  anthem  sublime. 
No  more  on  man's  teaching  dependent, 

From  cant  and  from  creed  I  am  free ; 
And  Beauty  and  Truth  are  transcendent, 

For  God  is  now  walking  with  me. 


37 


MY   CASTLE   IN   SPAIN 

~]\  yTY  castle  in  Spain  is  a  place  of  delight, 

•1 »  A   Where  I  joyfully  wander  at  morning  and 

night ; 

Of  all  life's  high  pleasure  the  happiest  hours 
Are  those  I  devote  to  its  fountains  and  flowers. 
Whenever  my  mind  in  a  reverie  swings, 
Hope  bears  me  away  on  her  jubilant  wings, 
To  leave  me,  forgetful  of  care  and  of  pain, 
A  fortunate  prince  at  my  castle  in  Spain. 

My  castle  in  Spain,  oh,  its  caskets  of  gold, 
Of  rubies  and  pearls,  are  a  joy  to  behold  ; 
And  riches  for  which  I  must  ever  despair 
In  this  workaday  world,  are  awaiting  me  there. 
Fond  favors  of  fortune,  that  brighten  and  bless, 
Drop  down  in  my  hands  with  the  softest  caress, 
And  I  wish,  with  a  sigh,  I  might  ever  remain 
At  my  marvelous,  far-away  castle  in  Spain. 

33 


My  Castle  in  Spain 

My  castle  in  Spain  is  as  light  as  the  air, 
For  its  walls  are  a  dream  and  its  roof  is  a  prayer; 
Its  courts  and  its  halls  of  such  wonderful  scope 
I  have  gorgeously  gemmed  with  the  treasures  of 

hope. 

Its  domes  and  its  tapering  spires  are  wrought 
Of  the  mystical  beauty  that  hides  in  a  thought; 
And  to  view   them  sweet  fancy  steals  into  my 

brain, 
Where  it  sees,  through  a  vision,  my  castle  in 

Spain. 


39 


WHEN   SHE   WAS  NEAR 

T\yTY  mother's  heart  was  honey, 

And  her  kiss  was  sweetest  balm, 
And,  though  the  world  was  full  of  storm, 

Her  lap  was  full  of  calm. 
Her  arms  and  breast  were  filled  with  rest, 

Her  smile  was  full  of  joy, 
And  life  was  dear  when  she  was  near 

And  I  a  little  boy. 

The  world  is  full  of  golden  gifts, 

And  yet  my  spirit  sighs 
Between  the  gracious  long  agoes 

And  happy  by  and  byes. 
I  am  aweary  of  the  cares 

That  fill  the  lives  of  men ; 
I  would  I  were  a  little  child 

Within  those  arms  again. 

For  my  mother's  heart  was  honey, 
And  her  kiss  was  sweetest  balm, 

And,  though  the  world  was  full  of  storm, 
Her  lap  was  full  of  calm. 
40 


When  She  was  Near 

Her  arms  and  breast  were  filled  with  rest, 

Her  smile  was  full  of  joy, 
And  life  was  dear  when  she  was  near 

And  I  a  little  boy. 


THE  EMPIRE   SHIP 

T   HAVE  sung  my  songs  to  the  stately  ships 

that  are  sailing  the  Seven  Seas, 
But  to-day  I  sing  of  a  cruder  craft  that  laughed 

at  the  lulling  breeze,  — 
Of  the  "  Prairie  Schooner,"  quaint  and  slow,  with 

its  dim  and  dusky  sails, 
A  phantom    ship   from   the   long-ago,  adrift   in 

the  grass-grown  trails. 
Westward,  ho  !  Westward,  ho  ! 
Out  where  the  winds  are  sweet  and  low 
And  the  grassy  cradles  swing  and  sway, 
The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward,  ho ! 


Ere  the  bellowing  steed  of  steel  and  steam  had 

startled  the  timid  deer, 
When  the  curlew  whistled  its  plaintive  call  to  the 

gray  grouse  nesting  near, 
42 


The  Empire  Ship 

Through  the  fair,  fresh  prairies,  hushed  and  hid, 

where  the  wild  wolf  made  her  den, 
There  came  this  land-launched  schooner  manned 

by  bronzed  and  brawny  men. 
Westward,  ho  !  Westward,  ho  ! 
Out  where  the  bold,  brisk  breezes  blow, 
And  a  young  world  walks   in  the  fields  of 

May, 

The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward,  ho ! 

And  in  that  marvelous  ship  that  sailed  to  the 

/       shores  of  the  wondrous  West, 
Was  a  mother  who  carolled  a  song  of  joy  to  the 

babe  at  her  happy  breast; 
And  stowed  away  in  the  good  ship's  hold  were 

a  book  and  plough  and  pen, 
And  a  sickle  and   seeds  —  yea !   all  God  needs 

for  the  making  of  matchless  men. 
Westward,  ho  !  Westward,  ho  ! 
Out  where  the  golden  harvests  glow 
And  the  builders  are  building  day  by  day, 
The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward,  ho ! 

43 


MY   LADY'S   HEART 

'ITT'EALTH,  with  his  golden  keys  a  score, 

And  all  his  gilded  art, 
Tried  vainly  to  unlock  the  door 
That  held  My  Lady's  heart. 

Love  came  and  through  the  keyhole  sighed, 
"  I  Ve  neither  bonds  nor  stocks," 

When,  lo !  My  Lady  rose,  a  bride, 
And  pushed  back  all  the  locks. 


i 


MEMORIES 

'F  you  Ve  ever  been  a  rover 

Through  the  fields  of  fragrant  clover, 
Where  life  is  all  a  simple  round  of  bliss, 

When  at  eve  the  sun  is  sinking 

Or  the  stars  are  faintly  blinking, 
You  can  call  to  mind  a  picture  such  as  this : 

Hark !  the  cows  are  homeward  roaming 

Through  the  pasture's  dewy  gloaming, 
I  can  hear  them  gently  lowing  through  the  dells, 

While  from  out  the  bosky  dingle 

Come  the  softly  tangled  jingle 
And  the  oft-repeated  echo  of  the  bells. 

Strange  how  Memory  will  fling  her 
Arms  about  some  scenes  we  bring  her, 
And  the  fleeting  years  but  make  them  fonder 

grow ; 

Though  I  wander  far  and  sadly 
From  that  dear  old  home,  how  gladly 
I  recall  the  cherished  scenes  of  long  ago. 
45 


Memories 

Hark !  the  cows  are  homeward  roaming 

Through  the  pasture's  dewy  gloaming, 
I  can  hear  them  gently  lowing  through  the  dells, 

While  from  out  the  bosky  dingle 

Come  the  softly  tangled  jingle 
And  the  oft-repeated  echo  of  the  bells. 


THE   YEAR'S  DELIGHTS 

"I  T  7HEN  the  days  are  chill  and  the  winds  are 
W  shrill 

And  the  snow-wreaths  crown  the  earth, 
Then  the  kind  fates  lend  a  book  and  a  friend 

And  a  seat  by  the  glowing  hearth. 
And  the  hoarse,  deep  shout  of  the  storm  without, 

And  the  Frost's  breath  keen  and  thin, 
Add  cheer  and  grace  to  the  firelit  face 

Of  the  friend  and  the  book  within. 


When  the  wild-bird  calls,  then  away  with  walls 

For  the  fields  and  the  open  sky ! 
For  the  land  and  sea  are  a  home  for  me, 

And  the  big  world,  broad  and  high. 
Then  I  find  my  books  in  the  running  brooks, 

And  my  friends  by  the  wave-washed  shores, 
Where  we  glean  and  grow  in  the  glint  and  glow 

Of  the  boundless  out-of-doors. 


47 


A  MIDDLE-AGED   LOVE   STORY 

"1 T  7ITH  every  tick  of  the  clock,  my  dear, 

The  days  go  singing  by, 
And  the  skies  are  blue  and  our  hearts  are  true, 

And  there 's  love  in  your  laughing  eye. 
And  never  you  care  if  the  silver  hair 

Steals  into  each  golden  lock, 
For  your  heart  must  know  you  dearer  grow 

With  every  tick  of  the  clock. 


With  every  tick  of  the  clock,  my  dear, 

We  drift  from  the  shores  of  youth, 
And  we  swifter  glide  on  the  broader  tide 

Of  the  grander  sea  of  truth. 
The  flight  of  time  but  smoothes  to  rhyme 

Life's  every  grief  and  shock, 
And  we  nearer  grow  in  love's  glad  glow 

With  every  tick  of  the  clock. 


48 


JUNE 

TUNE,  and  the  skies  brimming  over 
•^      With  seas  of  the  tenderest  blue ; 
June,  and  the  bloom  of  the  clover, 

Heavy  with  honey  and  dew ; 
June,  and  the  reeds  and  the  rushes, 

Slender  and  lithesome  and  long; 
June,  and  the  larks  and  the  thrushes 

Singing  their  happiest  song. 


June,  and  the  rose  in  her  beauty 

Making  an  Eden  again : 
June,  and  desire  is  duty 

Crowning  the  wishes  of  men ; 
June,  in  her  leaves  and  her  laces 

Gladding  the  earth  with  a  smile ; 
June,  and  the  gods  and  the  Graces 

Dwelling  with  mortals  awhile. 


49 


THE   PLAYHOUSE 

TT  was  n't  a  house  at  all,  you  see, 

But  only  a  big,  flat  stone ; 

Yet  they  called  it  a  house,  did  the  sisters  three, 
As  they  tarried  there  and  sipped  their  tea ; 
And  each  was  as  glad  as  a  queen  might  be, — 
A  queen  on  a  golden  throne. 

And  one  was  like  a  lily  rare, 

And  one  was  like  a  rose; 
And  one  had  stolen  a  happy  share 
Of  blended  grace  from  her  sisters  fair; 
And  all  were  lovely  beyond  compare,  — 

My  queens  of  the  long  agoes. 

The  house  was  close  by  the  garden  gate, 

And  under  the  apple-trees, 
In  whose  broad  branches,  early  and  late, 
The  robin  sang  to  his  joyous  mate 
As  a  lithe  limb,  feeling  his  happy  weight, 

Swung  low  in  the  summer  breeze. 
50 


The  Playhouse 

And  many  a  golden  afternoon 

The  sisters  chatted  there, 
With  hearts  as  glad  as  the  skies  of  June, 
With  hearts  as  soft  as  a  mother's  croon,          ** 
With  hearts  that  withered  and  all  too  soon 

With  a  grief  they  could  not  bear. 

I  wandered  far  in  the  paths  of  men, 

I  lingered  long  and  late 
To  win  the  golden  prize,  and  then 
I  set  my  heart  for  the  "  home  "  again, 
But  the  world  seemed  changed  and  cheerless  when 

I  stood  by  that  garden  gate. 

In  woe  I  sat  me  down  to  weep, 

For  my  heart  was  sad  and  lone, 
And  my  gold  seemed  all  so  poor  and  cheap, — 
There  was  little  left  I  cared  to  keep, 
And  I  wished  I  were  wrapped  in  a  dreamless  sleep 

And  under  that  big,  flat  stone. 


51 


ENVIRONMENT 

OHINE  or  shadow,  flame  or  frost, 
^  Zephyr-kissed  or  tempest-tossed, 
Night  or  day,  or  dusk  or  dawn, 
We  are  strangely  lived  upon. 

Mystic  builders  in  the  brain  — 
Mirth  and  sorrow,  joy  and  pain, 
Grief  and  gladness,  gloom  and  light  — 
Build,  oh,  build  my  heart  aright ! 

O  ye  friends,  with  pleasant  smiles, 
Help  me  build  my  precious  whiles ; 
Bring  me  blocks  of  gold  to  make 
Strength  that  wrong  shall  never  shake. 

Day  by  day  I  gather  from 
All  you  give  me.     I  become 
Yet  a  part  of  all  I  meet 
In  the  fields  and  in  the  street. 

52 


Environment 

Bring  me  songs  of  hope  and  youth, 
Bring  me  bands  of  steel  and  truth; 
Bring  me  love  wherein  to  find 
Charity  for  all  mankind. 

Place  within  my  hands  the  tools 
And  the  Master  Builder's  rules, 
That  the  walls  we  fashion  may 
Stand  forever  and  a  day. 

Help  me  build  a  palace  where 
All  is  wonderfully  fair  — 
Built  of  truth,  the  while,  above, 
Shines  the  pinnacle  of  love. 


53 


THE   OLD,   OLD    STORY 

HERE  the  fields  are  strewn  with  the  wealth 

of  June 

And  the  sunshine  glads  the  day, 
Where  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  swaths  and  swirls 

Are  raking  the  new-mown  hay, 
There  are  tender  sighs,  there  are  melting  eyes 

And  a  thrill  at  the  touch  of  hands, 
For  doves  will  coo  and  youth  will  woo 
As  long  as  the  old  earth  stands. 


Where  the  loom's  dull  song  the  whole  day  long 

Through  the  factory  ward  is  whirred, 
Whose  slaves  ne'er  see  fields  glad  and  free, 

Nor  list  to  the  voice  of  bird, 
There  are  tender  sighs,  there  are  melting  eyes 

And  a  thrill  at  the  touch  of  hands, 
For  doves  will  coo  and  youth  will  woo 

As  long  as  the  old  earth  stands. 
54 


The  Old,  Old  Story 

And  slave  or  free,  on  land  or  sea, 

It  counts  not  where  nor  when ; 
And  weal  or  woe,  this  truth  we  know,  — 

Where'er  there  are  maids  and  men, 
There  are  tender  sighs,  there  are  melting  eyes 

And  a  thrill  at  the  touch  of  hands, 
For  doves  will  coo  and  youth  will  woo 

As  long  as  the  old  earth  stands. 


55 


A   BACHELOR'S   REVERIE 

H,  a  home  is  a  terrible  handicap 

To  a  soul  that  would  fain  be  free ; 
It  has  captured  many  a  prisoned  chap, 

But  it  never  shall  shackle  me. 
Instead  of  the  cares  I  would  have  to  face, 

In  the  same  old  rounds  each  day, 
Oh,  give  me  a  room  in  a  lodging-place 
And  a  lunch  at  a  chance  cafe". 

I  never  need  hurry  to  catch  my  car, 

For  I  have  n't  a  place  to  go, 
And  early  or  late  no  meal  I  mar, 

For  I  'm  dining  alone,  you  know. 
The  hands  of  the  clock  I  never  chase, 

For  I  drift  in  an  easy  way, 
Since  I  sleep  in  a  transient  lodging-place 

And  lunch  at  a  chance  cafe". 

A  brother  of  mine  —  I  loved  him  well !  — 

Went  wrong  in  his  early  years, 
For  he  married  and  found  him  a  place  to  dwell, 

(Oh,  the  thought  of  it  brings  me  tears !  ) 
56 


A  Bachelor's  Reverie 

And  there  he  has  lived  —  what  a  pitiful  case ! 

And  there  he  will,  likely,  stay, 
While  I  still  sleep  in  a  lodging-place 

And  lunch  at  a  chance  cafe. 

I  sometimes  think  of  his  wife  and  child 

And  the  vine  at  his  cottage  door, 
While  I  dream  of  the  perfect  lips  that  smiled  - 

But  they  smile  for  me  no  more. 
And  I  muse,  "  If  the  saint  with  the  angel  face 

Had  answered  me  *  yes '  that  day, 
Would  I  sleep  in  a  transient  lodging-place 

Or  lunch  at  a  chance  cafe?  " 


57 


AN   IDOL   OF   CLAY 

TT 7HAT  did  she  give  for  her  wedding-ring? 

All  that  a  woman  may ! 
What  did  the  gifts  to  the  giver  bring? 

Only  an  idol  of  clay. 
All  the  sweet  dreams  of  her  girlhood  years, 

All  that  a  heart  could  hold ; 
All  of  her  hopes  and  all  of  her  fears, 
All  of  her  smiles  arid  all  of  her  tears, 

For  one  little  circle  of  gold. 

Told  she  the  world  of  the  bitter  cheat? 

Ah,  no !     With  a  smiling  face 
She  clothed  her  idol  from  head  to  feet 

With  the  garments  of  her  grace. 
And  no  one  knew  of  the  tears  she  wept; 

Her  griefs  they  were  never  guessed, 
For  hid  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  kept 
Her  thorns  of  woe.     And  so  she  slept 

With  her  hands  across  her  breast. 


THE   SONG   THE   KETTLE   SINGS 

WEET  are  the  songs  by  lovers  sung 

As  they  the  old,  old  story  tell, 
And  sweet  the  croon  of  bees  among 
The  clover-blooms  and  asphodel ; 
And  glad  the  notes  the  skylarks  trill 

At  dawn  upon  their  buoyant  wings; 
But  dearer,  softer,  better  still 

The  low,  sweet  song  the  kettle  sings. 

How  strangely  come  to  us  again 

The  pleasant  scenes  of  other  days, 
The  happy,  golden  moments  when 

We  went  our  simple,  childish  ways  ; 
When  all  life's  journey  lay  before 

And  gaily  beckoned  us  with  smiles, 
Ere  we  had  left  our  father's  door 

To  go  the  many,  weary  miles. 

There  by  the  broad,  deep  fireplace  sit 
The  aged  ones  with  silvered  hair ; 

Across  each  face  the  flashes  flit, 

And  faded  cheeks  grow  flushed  and  fair ; 
59 


The  Song  the  Kettle  Sings 

And  strangely  mingle  smile  and  tear 

As  memory  in  fondness  brings 
The  old,  old  days,  the  while  they  hear 

The  low,  sweet  song  the  kettle  sings. 

The  embers  throw  their  ruddy  gleam 

On  childish  figures  glad  and  free 
That  watch  the  changing  glow  and  dream 

Of  wondrous  things  that  are  to  be. 
The  future  one  sweet  chime  of  bells  — 

Of  golden  bells,  Hope  ever  rings; 
And  through  their  music  softly  wells 

The  low,  sweet  song  the  kettle  sings. 

Oh,  all  the  joys  my  heart  has  known, 

And  all  the  hopes  of  those  to  be 
Within  the  kettle's  gentle  tone 

On  gracious  wings  are  borne  to  me. 
And  gladness  which  my  care  beguiles 

Comes  bubbling  up  from  youthful  springs ; 
And  whispers  from  the  Peaceful  Isles 

Are  in  the  song  the  kettle  sings. 

Would  you  become  a  youth  again, 

Back  in  that  dear  old  home  once  more  — 
60 


The  Song  the  Kettle  Sings 

Trade  all  the  wisdom  sorry  men 

May  have  for  childhood's  happy  lore  ? 

Oh,  would  you  feel  the  morning  dew 
Of  rest  upon  life's  tired  wings? 

Then  dream  with  me  and  listen  to 
The  low,  sweet  song  the  kettle  sings. 


61 


WHEN   GRANDMA   SHUTS   HER  EYES 

T  T  7TTHIN  the  chimney-corner  snug, 

Dear  grandma  gently  rocks, 
And  knits  her  daughter's  baby  boy 

A  tiny  pair  of  socks. 
But  sometimes  grandma  shuts  her  eyes 
And  sings  the  softest  lullabies. 

Across  her  face  the  happy  smiles 

All  play  at  hide  and  seek, 
And  kiss  the  faint  and  faded  rose 

That  lingers  on  her  cheek, 
While  thoughts  too  sweet  for  words  arise 
When  dear  old  grandma  shuts  her  eyes. 

Yet,  sometimes,  pictures  in  her  face 

Have  just  a  shade  of  pain, 
As  golden  April  sunshine  when 

It  mingles  with  the  rain; 
And  then,  perchance,  she  softly  sighs, 
Does  grandma,  when  she  shuts  her  eyes. 
62 


When  Grandma  Shuts  her  Eyes 

She's  growing  younger  every  day, 

She's  quite  a  child  again; 
And  those  she  knew  in  girlhood's  years 

She  speaks  of  now  and  then  ; 
And  sweet  old  love-songs  feebly  tries, 
Does  grandma,  when  she  shuts  her  eyes. 

I  used  to  wonder  why  her  eyes 
She  closed,  but  not  in  sleep, 

The  while  the  smiles  would  all  about 
Her  wrinkled  visage  creep ; 

But  I  have  guessed  the  truth  at  last: 

She  shuts  her  eyes  to  view  the  past. 


PEACE   ON   EARTH 

O  SOLDIER  !  must  you  longer  stay? 
Have  not  the  centuries  sufficed 
To  teach  mankind  the  better  way  — 
Have  you  not  heard  of  Christ? 

Forget  the  battle-cry ;  instead 

Sing  joyous  songs  of  peace  and  trust. 

Let  swords  that  once  with  blood  were  red 
Grow  redder  still  with  rust. 

Turn  from  the  eagles ;  woo  the  dove, 
For  it  will  glad  the  angels  more 

If  you  will  train  a  vine  above 
A  lowly  cottage  door. 

And  give  your  bayonet  so  bright  — 
If  you  would  serve  the  greatest  good—- 

To  make  a  pen  wherewith  to  write 
A  song  of  brotherhood. 


FIELD   FLOWERS 

'"T^HE  simple,  little  wayside  rose 

•*•       To  me  is  sweeter  far, 
And  more  begirt  with  grace,  than  those 

From  sheltered  gardens  are ; 
And  vagrant  shreds  of  homeless  song 

May  keener  pleasures  hold 
Than  to  the  grander  bards  belong, 

Though  bound  in  silk  and  gold. 


FAR  FROM   THE   MADDING  CROWD 

TT  seems  to  me  I  'd  like  to  go 

Where  bells  don't  ring  nor  whistles  blow, 
Nor  clocks  don't  strike  nor  gongs  don't  sound, 
But  where  there's  stillness  all  around. 

Not  real  still  stillness ;  just  the  trees' 
Low  whisperings  or  the  croon  of  bees; 
The  drowsy  tinklings  of  the  rill, 
Or  twilight  song  of  whippoorwill. 

'T  would  be  a  joy  could  I  behold 
The  dappled  fields  of  green  and  gold, 
Or  in  the  cool,  sweet  clover  lie 
And  watch  the  cloud-ships  drifting  by. 

I  'd  like  to  find  some  quaint  old  boat, 
And  fold  its  oars,  and  with  it  float 
Along  the  lazy,  limpid  stream 

Where  water-lilies  drowse  and  dream. 
66 


Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd 

Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  I  must 
Just  quit  the  city's  din  and  dust, 
For  fields  of  green  and  skies  of  blue; 
And,  say !  how  does  it  seem  to  you? 


A  LOVE   SONG 

TT  's  a  dull,  dark  day  when  you  're  away, 

A  bright  one  when  you  're  near, 
For  gladdest  skies  are  in  your  eyes, 

Your  smile  is  shine  and  cheer. 
Your  face  is  like  a  garden  fair 

Where  radiant  roses  bloom 
And  all  the  flowers  rich  and  rare 

Have  spilled  their  sweet  perfume. 

I  know  not  if  our  dream  most  fond 

The  last  long  sleep  survives ; 
I  know  not  what  may  lie  beyond 

The  story  of  our  lives ; 
But  all  the  human  joys  that  thrill 

In  ecstasy  divine 
Would  be  but  sorry  grief  until 

I  held  your  hand  in  mine. 


68 


THAT  LITTLE  BACK  ROOM,  TOP 
FLOOR 


dream    came   true,  and   we    own  —  we 

two  — 

The  wonderful  home  we  planned 
In  the  old,  glad  times  of  the  sweetest  rhymes, 

When  I  sought  your  fair,  white  hand,  — 
When  my  heart's  request  was  to  build  a  nest, 

"  Next  thing  to  heaven  !  "  I  swore; 
And  it  was,  for,  oh,  Love  dwelt,  you  know, 
In  that  little  back  room,  top  floor. 

It  seemeth  well  we  here  should  dwell, 

And  settle  us  down  and  sup, 
And  sing  our  lays  to  the  good  old  days 

When  we  could  not  settle  up. 
"  With  thanks  "  came  back  my  rhymes,  alack  ! 

And  our  hearts  were  sometimes  sore 
When  the  landlord  sent  for  his  past  due  rent 

Of  that  little  back  room,  top  floor. 


That  Little  Back  Room,  Top  Floor 

Like  a  fleeting  year  it  seems,  my  dear, 

But  I  know  it  was  long  ago, 
For  your  tresses  rare  are  now  more  fair 

Than  they  were  at  the  time  —  you  know  — 
(The  months  my  brain  in  a  wild,  deep  pain, 

Refused  to  serve  us  more)  — 
They  were  sold  to  stay  the  wolf  away 

From  that  little  back  room,  top  floor. 

The  gods  have  brought  the  gifts  we  sought, 

For  we  own  our  vine  and  roof; 
But  my  heart  still  strays  to  the  strange,  sweet 
days 

When  the  Muses  held  aloof. 
And  my  thought's  fleet  ship  makes  many  a  trip 

To  a  far-off,  golden  shore, 
While  I  steal  the  themes  for  all  my  dreams 

From  that  little  back  room,  top  floor. 


70 


BITTER-SWEET 

JUST  a  few  tears  sprinkled  in  with  our  laughter, 

Just  a  few  clouds  in  the  blue  of  the  sky ; 
Showers  make  brighter  the  shine  that  comes  after, 
Smiles  are  the  sweeter  that  follow  a  sigh. 

Just  a  few  griefs  in  the  midst  of  our  gladness, 
Only  for  toil  there  could  never  be  rest. 

Songs  we  love  most  hold  a  shadow  of  sadness, 
Joys  that  are  touched  with  a  sorrow  are  best. 

Just  a  few  graves  in  a  land  of  the  living, 
Just  a  few  moans  in  the  midst  of  our  mirth, 

Just  a  few  wrongs  and  the  bliss  of  forgiving 
Bring  the  heart  glimpses  of  heaven  on  earth. 


TOWARD   SUNSET 

,  come,  my  love,  an^l  walk  with  me 
Through  the  orchard's  leafy  ways, 
And  hear  the  song  of  bird  and  bee 

We  heard  in  other  days. 
When  all  the  world  was  good  and  kind, 

When  hearts  were  warm  and  true, 
And  the  narrowest  path  our  feet  could  find 
Was  wide  enough  for  two. 

Once  more  we  '11  keep  a  loving  tryst 

Beneath  the  bending  boughs, 
Where  first  your  trembling  lips  were  kissed, 

And  first  we  breathed  our  vows. 
There  where  with  beating  heart  you  came 

To  greet  me  at  the  bars, 
And,  waiting,  I  would  speak  your  name, 

And  spell  it  in  the  stars. 

Time  sprinkles  frost  upon  our  heads, 

But  love's  eternal  youth 
Dwells  in  each  happy  breast  and  sheds 

The  beauty  born  of  truth. 

72 


Toward  Sunset 

And  heart  to  heart  and  lip  to  lip 
We  '11  breathe  our  vows  divine, 

Till  in  the  last  long  sleep  you  slip 
Your  loving  hand  in  mine. 


73 


COULD   WE  BUT  KNOW 


/TAHE  brooklet's  babble  weaves  the  tones 
That  come  from  all  its  hidden  stones. 
The  river's  tide  reflects  its  source 
And  all  that  joins  it  on  its  course. 
Life's  causes  lie  so  deep  and  far, 
And  men  are  only  what  they  are. 
Oh,  could  we  read  the  hearts  of  those 
About  us,  know  their  hidden  woes,  — 
The  secret  sources  of  despair, 
The  birth  and  burden  of  their  prayer  ; 
See  thrown  about  their  lives  the  mesh 
Of  pain  from  thorns  within  the  flesh, 
Our  charity  would  lend  the  grace 
Of  goodliness  to  every  face. 


74 


TO  THE   END 

"T7OR  old  sake's  sake"  Love  sings  his  song 

A  amid  the  ruins  where 

The  garden  bloomed  in  beauty  when  the  world 

was  young  and  fair ; 
And  on  the  broken  statue's  brow  a  rosied  wreath 

he  binds : 
"  Love  is  not  love  which  alters  when  it  alteration 

finds." 


75 


SERENADE 

OLEEP,  my  loved  one,  sleep  and  dream, 

Sleep  and  dream  of  me ; 
While  the  fair  moon's  mellow  beam, 
Mingled  with  the  stars'  soft  gleam, 
Falls  on  wood  and  lea. 

Lambs  within  the  happy  fold 

Dream  of  meadows  new, 
Where  the  buttercups  of  gold 
In  a  perfumed  chalice  hold 

Honeyed  drops  of  dew. 

Zephyrs  rock  the  robin's  nest 

In  the  tall  elm-tree 
Peacefully  as  stirs  thy  breast : 
Angels  guard  thy  perfect  rest,  — 

Sleep  and  dream  of  me. 


LIFE'S   SPRINGTIME 

0 

T  FELL  to  thinking  the  world  was  old, 

And  joy  had  flown  away ; 
That  the  precious  idols  I  dreamed  were  gold 

Were,  after  all,  but  clay : 
For  it  seemed  so  far  to  the  happy  times 

When  we  met  at  the  orchard  bars, 
And    breathed    our    vows    in    the    old,    sweet 

rhymes,  — 
We  two,  and  the  happy  stars. 

Last  night  as  I  came  through  the  leafy  dell, 

Where  long  ago  we  strayed, 
I  hearkt  to  a  happy  lover  tell 

His  vows  to  a  fair  young  maid. 
I  heard  the  song  of  the  whippoorwill 

And  the  twilight  coo  of  dove, 
And  lip  met  lip  with  a  blissful  thrill 

In  the  first,  sweet  kiss  of  love. 
77 


Life's  Springtime 

I  heard  my  daughter's  daughter's  voice,  — 

A  voice  from  the  days  gone  by,  — 
And  it  made  my  yearning  soul  rejoice 

And  my  heart  beat  warm  and  high. 
For  I  know  while  youth  and  beauty  meet, 

And  men  and  maidens  woo, 
Life's  wine  will  still  be  good  and  sweet, 

And  the  old  world  glad  and  new. 


A  DREAM  AT  THE  DESK 

/CHAINED  to  a  desk,  a  slave,  I  dream 
^^      Of  the  good  old  days  of  yore, 
And  I  see  the  boundless  glow  and  gleam 

Of  the  broad,  blue  skies,  once  more. 
And  the  rare  perfume  of  the  clover-bloom 

And  the  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay 
Seem  faintly  caught  in  the  sweet  dream  brought 

From  the  years  of  the  far-away. 

The  roar  of  the  busy,  babbling  town 

Which  long  my  soul  has  heard, 
For  just  one  fleeting  breath  I  drown 

In  the  song  of  brook  and  bird. 
My  ledgers  fade  to  glen  and  glade, 

And  fields  of  corn  and  rye, 
As  I  catch  the  joy  of  a  careless  boy 

From  a  dream  of  the  years  gone  by. 

I  shall  sometime  flee  from  my  prison  cell 

And  its  narrow  walls  of  gloom ; 
I  shall  quit  the  noisy  town  and  dwell 

Where  the  sweet  wild-roses  bloom. 
79 


A  Dream  at  the  Desk 

And  I  '11  trade  my  care  for  the  meadows  fair 

And  the  drowsy  croon  of  bee, 
While  I  hold  as  mine  the  bliss  divine 

A  dream  has  brought  to  me. 


80 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  EARTH 

T"\OWN  by  the  sea  on  a  summer  day 

I  doze  and  dream  while  the  children  play, 
Gleefully  heaping  their  hills  of  sand, 
Calling  them  palaces  high  and  grand ; 
A  clam-shell  serves  for  the  great  front  door, 
And  the  walk  is  a  bit  of  a  broken  oar; 
While  plate  and  platter  and  bowl  and  cup 
Are  polished  pebbles  the  sea  brings  up. 

And  king  and  queen  in  their  royal  state 
Pass  in  and  out  through  a  sea-weed  gate ; 
And  lord  and  lady  ride  to  and  fro, 
Till  a  far  voice  calls,  "  It  is  time  to  go." 
To  gems  and  jewels  and  palace  rare 
They  bid  farewell  and  they  leave  them  there; 
While  the  tide  comes  laughingly  up  the  bay, 
And  the  sand-made  palace  is  washed  away. 

Deep  in  the  city  I  see  the  men 
Playing  at  childish  games  again  ; 
Building  a  palace  of  brick  and  stone, 
playfully  calling  it  all  their  own. 
6  81 


The  Children  of  Earth 

The  walls  are  laid  with  the  cares  of  wealth, 
And  the  roof  is  patched  with  their  broken  health  ; 
And  plate  and  platter  and  bowl  and  cup 
Are  polished  trinkets  their  toil  brings  up. 

And  king  and  queen  in  their  royal  state 

Pass  in  and  out  through  a  golden  gate ; 

And  lord  and  lady  ride  to  and  fro 

Till  a  far  voice  calls,  "  It  is  time  to  go." 

From  gems  and  jewels  and  palace  rare 

They  turn  away  and  they  leave  them  there, 

While  Time  looks  down  through  a  thousand  years, 

And  the  man-made  palace,  —  it  disappears. 


82 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS 

all  the  nations,  east  or  west, 

Imagination  is  the  best. 
Its  boundless  realms  are  richer,  far, 
Than  all  earth's  other  countries  are. 
Its  azure  skies  are  more  serene, 
Its  verdant  fields  a  fairer  green, 
And  brooks  sing  softer  music  to 
An  ocean  of  diviner  blue. 

Its  laughing,  blossom-bordered  rills 
Dance  down  from  Hope's  triumphant  hills, 
Or  pause  in  pools  within  the  dale 
Enchanted  by  the  nightingale. 
Spring  blooms  eternal  and  the  rose 
Makes  fragrant  every  breeze  that  blows, 
And  fruits,  with  rounded  cheeks  of  wine, 
Hang  purpling  on  the  tree  and  vine. 

This  country  is  not  pencilled  on 
The  little  maps  that  men  have  drawn. 
It  is  too  broad,  too  high,  too  great 
For  mind  of  man  to  calculate. 

83 


The  Land  of  Dreams 

And  yet  it  is  not  far  away, 
But  here  and  now,  where  mortals  may, 
With  gods  and  graces,  wander  through 
This  land  where  all  our  dreams  come  true. 


84 


THE  GARDEN  OF  GENIUS 

T  KNEW  a  dingy  attic  where 

A  poor,  wan  child  in  sorrow  lay. 
Hid  in  a  narrow  window,  there, 

A  rosebush  struggled  toward  the  day; 
And  tears,  like  dew,  at  night  and  morn, 

Sank  down  to  warm  the  root  entombed, 
And  from  that  prisoned  plant  was  born 

The  sweetest  rose  that  ever  bloomed. 

O  garden  of  the  soul!  I  knew  — 

Ah  me  !  —  I  knew  a  little  "  den  " 
Where  hungry,  high-born  Genius  grew 

The  children  of  her  brush  and  pen : 
Amid  the  gloom  there  burned  a  gleam, 

And  patient  hand  was  taught  to  draw, 
And  patient  soul  was  taught  to  dream 

The  fairest  lines  I  ever  saw. 

The  fortune-favored  fields  may  bring, 
To  those  who  toil,  their  meed  of  grain ; 

But  Genius  still  her  wealth  will  fling 
Amid  the  thorny  wastes  of  pain. 

85 


The  Garden  of  Genius 

The  rose  that  blossomed  through  the  tears, 
And  that  high  Soul  of  Art,  these  two, 

Have  brought  to  me,  through  all  the  years, 
The  dearest  hope  I  ever  knew. 


86 


A  WINTER  REVERIE 

"IT7HEN  June  comes  laughing  back  again 
with  roses  tangled  in  her  hair 

That  in  a  silken  mesh  falls  down  to  hide  her 
shoulders  full  and  fair, 

Then  will  she  woo  this  drear  old  earth,  and,  brush 
ing  back  his  locks  of  gray, 

Within  her  soft  arms  rock  him  till  she  charms  his 
wintry  scars  away. 

All  day  the  honey-seeking  bee  will  revel  in  the 
elover-bloom, 

All  night  the  fireflies  swing  their  lamps  amid  the 
thicket's  dotted  gloom, 

And  song-birds,  silent  while  the  skies  are  dusty 
with  the  sprinkled  spheres, 

Will,  waking  with  the  morning,  drink  the  weep 
ing  willow's  dewy  tears. 

The  prison-weary  pauper  in  the  frosty  fastness  of 

the  north, 
When  south-winds  breathe  away  the  bars,  a  purple 

prince  will  wander  forth ; 


A  Winter  Reverie 

And  Folly,  wanton  sprite,  will  spice  the  happy 

hearts  of  maids  and  men 
With  moon-born  dreams  of  Paradise  when  June 

comes  laughing  back  again. 


88 


YELLOW  BUTTERFLIES 

TT\O   you    remember,  sister    dear,  the    golden 

^"^         summers  long  ago, 

When  you  and  I  through  happy  fields  so  gladly 

wandered  to  and  fro? 
Do  you  recall  the  dewy  morns  we  loitered  on  our 

way  to  school 
To  watch  the  butterflies  that  danced  about  the 

margin  of  the  pool? 

We  loved  the  green  of  hill  and  vale,  we  loved  the 

blue  that  bent  above  ; 
The  brooks,  the  birds,  the  whispering  woods,  yet 

more  than  these  we  seemed  to  love  — 
More  than  the  pale  wild-rose,  half  hid  beneath 

the  hedges  dark  and  cool  — 
The   yellow   butterflies   that   danced    about   the 

margin  of  the  pool. 

Oh,  long  the  paths  of  life  and  long  the  tender, 

clinging  dreams  of  youth, 
But  truth   leads  up   to    beauty  still,  and  beauty 

still  leads  up  to  truth. 
89 


Yellow  Butterflies 

And   in  our  memories  we   hold,  through   all  of 

life's  dull  book  and  rule, 
The   yellow   butterflies   that   danced   about   the 

margin  of  the  pool. 


90 


THE  MOONBEAM'S   MESSAGE 

MOON,  that   looks   in   at   my  window  to- 

night, 
Hast  thou   added  her   smile   to   thy  mellowing 

light; 

Hast  thou  stolen  the  languorous  beauty  that  lies 
Half-drowned  in   the  fathomless   depths   of  her 
eyes? 

Hast    thou   hung   at   her    lattice,   and   peeping 

between 

The  loosely  drawn  curtains  within,  hast  thou  seen 
The  grace  of  a  form  of  such  wonderful  mould 
Its  charm  were  too  great  for  the  eye  to  behold  ? 

Did  she  whisper  a  name?     Did  a  sigh  of  unrest, 
As  a  breeze  stirs  the  forest,  well  up  through  her 

breast? 
And  lips  that  were  formed  for  the   spelling  of 

bliss, 

The  ring  that  I  gave,  did  they  glad  with  a  kiss? 
91 


The  Moonbeam's  Message 

Did  she  look  in  thy  face?     Did  she  give  thee  one 

glance 

From  eyes  whose  soft  beauty  must  ever  entrance? 
If  so,  I  would  raise  this  petition  to  thee, 
O  moon !  let  that  glance  be  reflected  on  me. 


92 


FRIENDS 

"VTOU  are  my  friend,  for  you  have  smiled  with 
me, 

My  help  and  hope  in  fair  and  stormy  weather; 
I  like  you  for  the  joys  you  've  whiled  with  me, 

I  love  you  for  the  griefs  we  Ve  wept  together. 

I  Ve  held  your  hand  when  life  was  gold  to  me, 

And  shared  with  you  its  every  gracious  greeting ; 
You  Ve  brought  good  cheer  when  earth  was  cold 

to  me, 

And    made  me  feel   your  warm   heart  fondly 
beating. 

Though  all  the  world  were  deaf  and  dark  to  me, 
And  long  the  night,  and  bleak  the  winds  and 

biting, 

I  know  full  well  that  you  would  hark  to  me, 
And  set  my  path  with  lamps  of  Love's  glad 
lighting. 

You  are  my  friend,  for  you  have  smiled  with  me, 
My  help  and  hope  in  fair  and  stormy  weather ; 

I  like  you  for  the  joys  you  Ve  whiled  with  me, 
I  love  you  for  the  griefs  we  Ve  wept  together. 
93 


GOD   ONLY  KNOWS 

T  T  7HITHER  are  going  with  hurrying  feet 

Forms  that   are  passing  to-night  on  the 

street? 

Faces  all  sunny  and  faces  all  sad, 
Hearts  that  are  weary  and  hearts  that  are  glad ; 
Eyes  that  are  heavy  with  sorrow  and  strife, 
Eyes  that  are  gleaming  with  beauty  and  life ; 
Pictures  of  pleasure  and  crosses  of  care, 
Going  —  all  going  —  God  only  knows  where! 

Hands  that  have  earnestly  striven  for  bread, 
Hands  that  are  soiled  with  dishonor  instead ; 
Hearts  that  are  tuned  to  a  purpose  sublime, 
Hearts  all  discordant  and  jangled  with  crime ; 
Souls  that  are  pure  and  as  white  as  the  snow, 
Souls  that  are  black  as  the  midnight  of  woe ; 
Gay  in  their  gladness  or  sad  in  despair, 
Going  —  all  going  —  God  only  knows  where ! 

Some  to  the  feast  where  the  richest  red  wine 
And  rarest  of  jewels  will  sparkle  and  shine; 
94 


God  only  Knows 

Some  in  their  hunger  will  wander,  and  some 
Will  sleep  nor  awaken  when  morning  shall  come. 
The  robed  and  the  ragged,  the  foe  and  the  friend, 
All  of  them  hurrying  on  to  the  end, 
Nearing  the  grave,  with  a  curse  or  a  prayer, 
Going  —  all  going —  God  only  knows  where. 


95 


A  THRUSH'S   SONG 

TT  was  just  before  the  battle, 

In  the  rosy  dawn  of  day,  — 
Ere  the  hosts,  like  maddened  cattle, 
Met  amid  the  roar  and  rattle 
Of  the  fierce  and  bloody  fray. 

And  a  picket-man,  on  duty, 

Heard  a  thrush  above  him  sing,  — 
Heard  the  liquid  notes  of  beauty 
From  the  wondrous,  witching  lute  he 

Hid  beneath  his  happy  wing. 

And  the  music  sent  him  dreaming 

To  the  home-nest,  far  away; 
And  he  saw  her  fond  eyes  beaming 
On  the  baby's  face  a-gleaming 
In  his  careless,  cradle  play. 

Then  there  woke  the  awful  thunder 
Of  the  Death-King  in  his  might; 
Stately  oaks  were  torn  asunder 
96 


A  Thrush's  Song 

While  the  heavens  watched  in  wonder, 
Till  the  darkness  lulled  the  fight. 

Where  a  wounded  thrush  was  lying 

Close  beside  a  shattered  nest, 
There  the  night-wind  wandered  sighing 
For  the  soldier  who  was  dying 
With  a  bullet  in  his  breast. 


97 


HER  AND   ME 

T\  /TUST  have  been  the  angels  planned  it, 
•*"  Could  not  be  it  happened  so, — 

Yet  I  did  not  understand  it 

When  we  met,  so  long  ago. 
Now,  in  looking  back  and  viewing 

All  the  happy  years,  I  see 
What  the  good  Lord  has  been  doing 

For  the  joy  of  her  and  me. 

Seems  as  though,  if  I  had  missed  her, 

Way  back  yonder  where  we  met,  — 
Never  held  her  hand  nor  kissed  her,  — 

I  'd  be  waiting  for  her  yet. 
Waiting  for  her  smile  so  sunny, 

Filling  all  the  world  with  cheer,  — - 
For  her  words,  as  sweet  as  honey, 

Breathing  music  in  my  ear. 

Been  a  world  of  joy  and  sorrow 

Since  we  vowed,  "  Till  death  do  part,"  — 
Bright  to-day  and  dark  to-morrow,  — 

But  we  Ve  met  it,  heart  and  heart. 


Her  and  Me 

Comes  there  calm  or  comes  there  billow, 
True  as  steel  our  love  shall  be, 

Till  our  cheeks  shall  press  the  pillow 
Death  will  smooth  for  her  and  me. 


99 


NATURE'S   PROMISE 

QNOW  in  the  valley  and  snow  on  the  mountain, 
^     And  sparkles  of  frost  on  the  roof  and  the 

spire ; 
The   cold  moonbeams  fall  on   the   ice-prisoned 

fountain 
The  sun  cannot  free  with  his  faint  touch  of  fire. 


But  the  song  of  the  south-wind  will  waken  the 

clover, 
The   ring-dove  will   coo   to   his   mate   in  the 

bower ; 

The  frost-fashioned  flake,  when  the  winter  is  over, 
A  dewdrop  will  shine  in  the  heart  of  a  flower. 


IN  THE   FIRELIGHT 

'HT^HE  smouldering  backlog  is  nearly  in  two, 
And  the  forestick  is  burned  to  the  core ; 
The  embers  are  blushing  a  tremulous  hue, 
While  the  wind  in  the  chimney  goes  "  woo-oo-oo !  " 

And,  sadly,  at  window  and  door, 

Is  sighing  that  summer  is  o'er. 
And  a  faint,  little  whispering,  eery  and  queer, 

Brings  news  I  am  waiting  to  know, — 
The  forces  of  Winter  are  marshalling  near,  — 
It  says  in  that  strange  little  language  we  hear 

When  the  fire  is  talking  of  snow. 

My  babies  are  blissfully  dreaming  in  bed, 

Close-wrapped  is  each  innocent  form ; 
With  tender  caress  their  "  Good  Nights "  have 

been  said, 
And  with  blankets  soft-tucked  round  each  dear 

little  head, 

And  cuddled  so  cozy  and  warm, 
They  fear  not  the  breath  of  the  storm. 
101 


In  the  Firelight 

In  front  of  the  fireplace,  beaming  and  bright, 

Are  their  little  shoes,  all  in  a  row, 
Whose  travel-worn  soles  seem  to  shiver  with  fright 
When  the  wind  hoarsely  laughs  in  the  chimney 
at  night 

And  the  fire  is  talking  of  snow. 

On  the  shadowy  mantel  the  garrulous  clock 

Is  sifting  the  seconds  away 

And  solemnly  telling  me  —  "  Tock,  tick,  tock  "  — 
It  is  time  I  was  joining  my  slumbering  flock 

Where  the  drowsy-eyed  poppy  holds  sway ; 

But  I  linger  to  prayerfully  say, 
"  Good  angels  be  near  to  those  treasures  of  mine 

When  the  tempest  shall  bitingly  blow ; 
Through  all  their  sweet  dreaming  bright  blossoms 

entwine ; 
Bring  roses  and  lilies  and  summer  and  shine, 

While  the  fire  is  talking  of  snow." 


102 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   LOVE 

T  T  7HEN  she  comes  back  she  '11  never  know 

That  I  have  really  missed  her  so. 
I  s'pose  she  'd  laugh  if  she  but  knew 
One  half  the  boyish  things  I  do. 
An  old  man  deep  in  love 's  as  big 
A  goose  as  is  a  lovelorn  sprig, 
And  I  just  smile  at  times  to  see 
What  simple  thoughts  come  over  me. 

I  used  to  fear  long  years  of  life 
Would  dim  the  love  of  man  and  wife, 
But  now  I  find  that  every  mile 
The  flame  grows  brighter  all  the  while ; 
And  ever  since  she  's  been  away 
I  Ve  counted  every  hour  and  day, 
And  wished  the  time  would  hurry  when 
I  '11  look  into  her  eyes  again. 

At  evening  when  I  sit  and  rock, 

And  hear  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  — • 

'T  was  given  us  the  day  we  wed, 

He  heard  it,  too,  the  boy  that's  dead, — 


An  Old  Man's  Love 

Then  with  the  stillness  all  around 
I  think  of  years  when  first  I  wound 
That  dear  old  clock,  and  thoughts  arise 
That  bring  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 

But  they  are  sort  of  pleasant  tears, 

The  ones  you  call  through  years  and  years 

Of  pleasure  sprinkled  through  with  pain 

Like  April  sunshine  dashed  with  rain. 

Some  skies  were  dark  and  some  were  fair, 

And  joys  came  tangled  up  with  care, 

But  after  all  the  thorns  and  stings 

The  way  was  blessed  with  gracious  things. 

You  could  n't  make  her  believe  that  I 

Would  on  our  old  piano  try 

To  pick  out  some  sweet  courting-tune 

We  used  to  sing  in  love's  glad  June. 

T  would  trouble  her  if  she  should  know 

While  she 's  away  I  'm  worried  so, 

For  while  she  's  round  the  house,  you  see, 

I  'm  dignified  as  I  can  be. 

And  then  to-day,  I  had  to  laugh  — 
I  hunted  up  her  photograph ; 
104 


An  Old  Man's  Love 

• 

It  seemed  so  queer.     I  don't  know  when 
I  Ve  looked  at  it  before,  and  then 
I  thought  about  the  Sunday  she 
First  gave  that  picture  rare  to  me, 
And  how  I  kissed  it  then  and  how 
I  kiss  it  just  as  fondly  now. 

I  wonder  if  two  hearts  in  tune 

Are  n't  always  in  their  honeymoon  ; 

And  I  Jd  just  like  to  know  if  she  's 

A-thinking  any  thoughts  like  these. 

My  love  I  '11  hardly  dare  confess, 

But  somehow  I  believe  she  '11  guess 

Its  depth  within  the  tender  smack 

Her  cheek  will  feel  when  she  comes  back. 


I05 


THE   RED   ROSE 

IVE  me  a  rose,  a  rare,  red  rose, 

To  wear  upon  my  breast ; 
Of  all  good  things  the  summer  brings 

The  red  rose  seemeth  best. 
I  know  not  why  she  glads  my  eye 

And  makes  my  heart  to  stir, 
But  at  the  shrine  of  gifts  divine 
I  kneel  to  worship  her. 

She  is  not  born  among  the  joys 

The  smiles  of  April  bring, 
Nor  in  the  May,  for  such  as  they 

Are  children  of  the  spring. 
But  when  the  noon  of  golden  June 

Is  rounded  full  and  sweet, 
She  brings  the  grace  in  form  and  face 

Of  womanhood  complete. 

The  lily's  lips  are  pure  as  snow 

That  cometh  from  above, 
But  oh !  the  heart  would  be  a  part 

Of  joys  that  blend  with  love. 
1 06 


The  Red  Rose 

Give  me  a  rose,  a  rare,  red  rose, 

To  wear  upon  my  breast ; 
Of  all  good  things  the  summer  brings 

The  red  rose  seemeth  best. 


107 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED    PICTURE 

A   N  old-fashioned  picture  steals  into  my  dream- 

•*  •*•         ing,  a  picture  so  soothingly  sweet ; 

A  little,  low  cottage  with  roses  half  hiding  the 
window  that  looks  on  the  street. 

And  a  woman,  within,  has  a  smile  for  my  coming 
(oh,  none  were  so  happy  as  we !) 

While  the  baby  she  holds  in  her  arms  at  the  win 
dow  is  waving  his  kisses  to  me. 

All  day  at  the  forge  and  the  anvil  I  whistled  the 

song  she  had  taught  me  to  sing, 
And  the  words  she  had  sweetened  and  softened 

in  speaking  were  timed  to  my  hammer's  loud 

ring. 
And  on  my  way  home  how  my  heart  leaped  when 

reaching  a  bend  in  the  street  I  could  see 
The  baby  she  held  in  her  arms  at  the  window 

a-waving  his  kisses  to  me. 
108 


An  Old-Fashioned  Picture 

Not  gone,  but  asleep  in  the  churchyard,  together, 
where  old-fashioned  roses  entwine 

A  wreath  for  the  mossy  old  stone,  they  are  wait 
ing,  those  God-given  treasures  of  mine ; 

And  though  far  away  from  their  rest  I  have  wan 
dered,  that  old-fashioned  picture  I  see, 

And  the  baby  she  holds  in  her  arms  at  the  win 
dow  is  waving  his  kisses  to  me. 


109 


OUR  DARK-DAY   FRIENDS 


dark-day  friends  !     Ah,  how  we  prize 
The  steadfast  hearts  who,  when  our  skies 
Take  on  a  dull  and  leaden  hue, 
Like  glints  of  sun  come  smiling  through 
With  summer  in  their  words  and  eyes  ! 

Sweet  is  adversity  that  tries 
The  strength  on  which  the  heart  relies 
And  brings  to  us  the  faithful  few,  — 
Our  dark-day  friends. 

When  skies  are  all  a  perfect  blue 

And  wealth  and  happiness  pursue, 
Ah,  one  must  be  extremely  wise 
Who  can  detect  the  world's  disguise  ! 

The  storm,  alone,  can  bring  to  view 
Our  dark-day  friends. 


no 


RECOMPENSE 

/"TAHE  gifts  that  to  our  breasts  we  fold 

Are  brightened  by  our  losses. 
The  sweetest  joys  a  heart  can  hold 

Grow  up  between  its  crosses. 
And  on  life's  pathway  many  a  mile 

Is  made  more  glad  and  cheery, 
Because,  for  just  a  little  while, 

The  way  seemed  dark  and  dreary. 


in 


THE   PERFECT   DAY 

'"T"SHE  dawn  an  amethyst ;   the  noon  a  pearl  set 

•*•  round  with  gold  ; 

The  eve  an  opal  changing  to  a  ruby  warm  and 

bold; 
The  night  with  diamonds  in  her  hair  and  on  her 

brows  and  breast, 
Her  moon-ringed  finger  made  a  wand  to  charm  a 

world  to  rest. 

Oh,   gracious    morn !    Oh,  golden    noon !    Oh, 

matchless  eve !    Oh,  night 
Whose  stars  from  a  diviner  sky  gave  a  diviner 

light ! 
O  day  of  days,  within  my  heart  of  hearts  I  still 

enshrine ! 
That  morn,  that  noon,  that  eve,  that  night,  Love 

wreathed  his  dreams  with  mine. 


112 


HOUSE  AND   HOME 

A      HOUSE  is  built  of  bricks  and  stones,  of 

sills  and  posts  and  piers, 
But  a  home  is  built  of  loving  deeds  that  stand  a 

thousand  years. 
A  house,  though  but  an  humble  cot,  within  its 

walls  may  hold 

A  home  of  priceless  beauty,  rich  in  Love's  eternal 
gold. 

The    men    of   earth    build    houses ; —  halls    and 

chambers,  roofs  and  domes,  — 
But  the  women  of  the  earth  —  God  knows !  — 

the  women  build  the  homes. 
Eve  could  not  stray  from  Paradise,  for,  oh,  no 

matter  where 
Her  gracious  presence  lit  the  way,  lo !  Paradise 

was  there. 


A  FO'CAS'LE  BALLAD 

T  'VE  sailed  as  far  as  the  winds  dare  blow, 

And  I  Ve  bunked  a  while  in  many  a  port ; 
The  ships  may  come  and  the  ships  may  go, 

I  Ve  always  found  the  time  to  court. 
And  I  Ve  learned  one  thing,  and  I  swear  it 's  true, 

That,  old  or  young,  or  black  or  white, 
If  you  're  good  to  her  she  's  good  to  you,  — 
For  a  woman 's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 
Then  ho  !  yo-ho  !  for  the  boundless  blue  ! 
And  ho  !  yo-ho  !  for  the  harbor  light! 
If  you  're  good  to  her  she 's  good  to  you,  — 
For  a  woman 's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 

I  Ve  not  been  half  what  a  sailor  should  ; 

But  the  lads  are  a  careless  lot  of  men, 
For  the  gales  they  blow  us  away  from  good, 

And  seldom  they  blow  us  back  again. 
Yet  never  I  Ve  met  with  a  sailor  lad 

Who  was  true  to  his  lassie  day  and  night 
114 


A  Fo'cas'le  Ballad 

But  he  found  her  waiting,  good  and  glad, — 
For  a  woman 's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 
Then  ho  !  yo-ho  !  for  the  boundless  blue  / 
And  ho  !  yo-ho  !  for  the  harbor  light ! 
If  you  're  good  to  her  she 's  good  to  you,  — 
For  a  woman  's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 

When  the  winds  are  low  and  the  watch  is  long, 

And  our  ship  's  asleep  in  a  lazy  sea, 
I  weave  me  many  an  idle  song 

For  those  who  were  better  than  I  could  be. 
And  I  sing  the  words  I  swear  are  true, 

That,  old  or  young,  or  black  or  white, 
If  you're  good  to  her  she's  good  to  you, — 
For  a  woman's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 
Then  ho  !  yo-ho  !  for  the  boundless  blue  ! 
And  ho  /  yo-ho  !  for  the  harbor  light ! 
If  you  're  good  to  her  she 's  good  to  you,  — 
For  a  woman 's  square  if  you  treat  her  right. 


THE   MAN   IN  THE   CAB 

O  AFE  and  snug  in  the  sleeping-car 

Are  father  and  mother  and  dreaming  child. 
The  night  outside  shows  never  a  star, 

For  the  storm  is  thick  and  the  wind  is  wild. 
The  frenzied  train  in  its  all-night  race 

Holds  many  a  soul  in  its  fragile  walls, 
While  up  in  his  cab,  with  a  smoke-stained  face, 

Is  the  man  in  the  greasy  overalls. 

Through     the    fire-box    door    the    heat    glows 

white, 

•The  whistle  speaks  with  a  shriek  that  shocks, 
The  pistons  dance  and  the  drive-wheels  smite 

The  trembling  rails  till  the  whole  earth  rocks. 
But  never  a  searching  eye  could  trace  — 

Though   the   night    is   black   and    the   speed 

appals  — 
A  line  of  fear  in  the  smoke-stained  face 

Of  the  man  in  the  greasy  overalls. 
116 


The  Man  in  the  Cab 

No  halting,  wavering  coward  he, 

As  he  lashes  his  engine  round  the  curve, 
But  a  peace-encompassed  Grant  or  Lee, 

With  a  heart  of  oak  and  an  iron  nerve. 
And  so  I  ask  that  you  make  a  place 

In  the  Temple  of  Heroes'  sacred  halls 
Where  I  may  hang  the  smoke-stained  face 

Of  the  man  in  the  greasy  overalls. 


117 


WHEN  TO   BE   HAPPY 

TT  7HY  do  we  cling  to  the  skirts  of  sorrow, 

Why  do  we  cloud  with  care  the  brow? 
Why  do  we  wait  for  a  glad  to-morrow,  — 

Why  not  gladden  the  precious  Now? 
Eden  is  yours !     Would  you  dwell  within  it? 

Change  men's  grief  to  a  gracious  smile, 
And  thus  have  heaven  here  this  minute 

And  not  far-off  in  the  afterwhile. 

Life,  at  most,  is  a  fleeting  bubble, 

Gone  with  the  puff  of  an  angel's  breath. 
Why  should  the  dim  hereafter  trouble 

Souls  this  side  of  the  gates  of  death? 
The  crown  is  yours !     Would  you  care  to  win  it? 

Plant  a  song  in  the  hearts  that  sigh, 
And  thus  have  heaven  here  this  minute 

And  not  far-off  in  the  by-and-by. 

Find  the  soul's  high  place  of  beauty, 
Not  in  a  man-made  book  of  creeds, 
But  where  desire  ennobles  duty 

And  life  is  full  of  your  kindly  deeds. 
118 


When  to  be  Happy 

The  bliss  is  yours !     Would  you  fain  begin  it? 

Pave  with  love  each  golden  mile, 
And  thus  have  heaven  here  this  minute 

And  not  far-off  in  the  afterwhile. 


119 


AN   OPEN   LETTER   TO   THE  PESSIMIST 

"DROTHER —  you  with  growl  and  frown  — 
Why  don't  you  move  from  Grumbletown, 

Where  everything  is  tumbled  down 
And  skies  are  dark  and  dreary? 

Move  over  into  Gladville,  where 

Your  face  will  don  a  happy  air; 

And  lay  aside  that  look  of  care 

For  smiles  all  bright  and  cheery. 

In  Grumbletown  there  's  not  a  joy 
But  has  a  shadow  of  alloy 
That  must  its  happiness  destroy 

And  make  you  to  regret  it. 
In  Gladville  they  have  not  a  care 
But  what  it  looks  inviting  there 
And  has  about  it  something  fair 

That  makes  you  glad  to  get  it. 

T  is  strange  how  different  these  towns 
Of  ours  are  !     Good  cheer  abounds 
In  one,  and  gruesome  growls  and  frowns 
Are  always  in  the  other. 

120 


An  Open  Letter  to  the  Pessimist 

If  you  your  skies  of  ashen  gray 
Would  change  for  sunny  smiles  of  May, 
From  Grumbletovvn,  oh!  haste  away; 

Move  into  Gladville,  brother. 


121 


WHEN   SHAKESPEARE  WROTE 

TT 7HEN    Shakespeare  wrote,   the  world  was 
new: 

He  did  not  follow  others  who 

Had  grabbed  up  everything  in  sight 
And  written  all  there  was  to  write, 

And  in  a  clever  manner,  too. 

No,  all  an  author  had  to  do 
Was  just  to  loaf  around  and  view 

A  field  with  themes  all  fresh  and  bright, 
When  Shakespeare  wrote. 

Folks  did  not  keep  him  in  a  stew 

And  say  he  'd  plagiarized  his  Jew 

And  Hamlet.     Ah,  'twas  easy,  quite, 
For  Shakespeare  had  not  rendered  trite 

Each  thought  that  could  one's  muse  imbue 
When  Shakespeare  wrote. 


123 


THE   ANGELIC   HUSBAND 


T 


kHERE  are  husbands  who  are  pretty, 

There  are  husbands  who  are  witty, 
There  are  husbands  who  in  public  are  as  smiling 

as  the  morn ; 

There  are  husbands  brave  and  healthy, 
There  are  famous  ones  and  wealthy, 
But  the  real  angelic  husband,  he  has  never  yet 
been  born. 

Some  for  strength  of  love  are  noted, 
Who  are  really  so  devoted 
That  whene'er  from  home  they  wander  they  are 

lonesome  and  forlorn ; 
And  while  now  and  then  you  '11  find  one 
Who  's  a  very  good  and  kind  one, 
Yet  the  real  angelic  husband,  he  has  never  yet 
been  born. 

So  the  woman  who  is  mated 

To  a  man  who  may  be  rated 
123 


The  Angelic  Husband 

As  "  pretty  fair,"  should  cherish  him  forever  and 

a  day, 

For  the  real  angelic  creature, 
Perfect,  quite,  in  every  feature, 
He  has  never  been  discovered,  and  he  won't  be, 
so  they  say. 


124 


THE   GIRL  WHO   LOVED   HIM   SO 

"  T  TA.  ha !  "  said  Chappie   Fizzlewig,  and  he 

laughed  in  boyish  glee, 
"  I  'm  making  love  to  a  dozen   girls,  but  none 

shall  marry  me ; 
I  sigh  to  them  and  I  lie  to  them  and  I  fall  upon 

my  knees, 
As  I  twist  their  trusting  hearts  about  precisely  as 

I  please." 

And  the  parlor  clock 
Ticked  on,  "  tick-tock," 
And  the  gaslight  flickered  low 
As  he  waiting  sat  for  a  chance  to  chat  with  the 
girl  who  loved  him  so. 

And  when  she   had  frizzled   her  old-gold   hair 
and  painted  her  faded  face, 

She  came,  a  vision  fresh  and  fair,  with  comely 
childlike  grace. 

"  Poor,  unsuspecting  soul !  "  thought  he,   "  she 
little  dreams  that  I 

Flit  on  from  bud  to  bud  as  does  the  careless  but 
terfly." 

125 


The  Girl  who  Loved  Him  so 

And  the  parlor  clock 
Ticked  on,  "  tick-tock," 
And  the  gaslight  flickered  low 
As  he  slyly  planned  to  hold  the  hand  of  the  girl 
who  loved  him  so. 

There  was  no  one  near  to  overhear,  so  he  told 

her  of  his  love, 
As  true  and  pure  and  constant  as  the  stars  that 

shone  above ; 
And  when  the  proper  time  arrived  he  fell  upon 

his  knees, 
And  words  he  wished  to  emphasize  he  'd  give  her 

hand  a  squeeze. 
And  the  parlor  clock 
Ticked  on,  "  tick-tock," 
And  the  gaslight  flickered  low 
As  with  subtle  art  he  won  the  heart  of  the  girl 
who  loved  him  so. 

And    the    tender,    trustful    maiden,    she  —  she 

laughed  a  gentle  laugh, 
For  she  knew  each  word  he  spoke  was  caught  by 

her  sofa-phonograph ; 
126 


The  Girl  who  Loved  Him  so 

And  when  he  knelt  to  win  her  she  a  button  gently 

pressed, 
And  the  corner  what-not  camera  in  silence  did 

the  rest. 

And  the  parlor  clock 
Ticked  on,  "  tick-tock," 
And  the  gaslight  flickered  low 
As  she  sweetly  smiled,  did  the  guileless  child,  the 
girl  who  loved  him  so. 

The  world  went  round,  and  by  and  by  he  tired  of 

her  love ; 
'T  was  then  that  she  reminded  him  the  stars  still 

shone  above ; 
And  into  court  the  phonograph  and  photographs 

were  brought, 
When  the  young  man  learned  a  lot  of  things  of 

which  he'd  never  thought. 
And  the  parlor  clock 
Ticked  on,  "  tick-tock," 
And  the  gaslight  shed  its  glow, 
And  the  guests  all  came  and  he  gave  his  name  to 
the  girl  who  loved  him  so. 


127 


GRADUATION-DAY   ESSAY 

A  SPRYNG  IDYLLE 

,  the  gentle  grass  is  growing  in  the  vale 

and  on  the  hill ; 
We  cannot   hear   it  growing,   still  'tis   growing 

very  still ; 
And  in  the  Spring  it  springs  to  life  with  gladness 

and  delight; 

I  see  it  growing  day  by  day  —  it  also  grows  by 
night. 

And    now   once    more    as    mowers   whisk    the 
whiskers  from  the  lawn, 

They'll  rouse  us  from  our  slumbers  at  the  dawn 
ing  of  the  dawn ; 

It   saddens   my   poor   heart   to   think   what   we 
should  do  for  hay, 

If  grass  instead  of  growing  up  should  grow  the 
other  way, 

128 


Graduation-Day  Essay 

Its  present  rate  of  growing  makes  it  safe  to  say 

that  soon 
'Twill  cover  all  the  hills   at   morn   and   in  the 

afternoon ; 
For  often  I  have  noticed  as  I  Ve  watched  it  o'er 

and  o'er, 
It  grows  and  grows  and  grows  a  while,  and  then  it 

grows  some  more. 

If  it  keeps  growing  right  along,  it  shortly  will 

.     be  tall ; 
It  humps  itself  through  strikes  and  legal  holidays 

and  all. 
'Tis  growing  up  down  all  the  streets  and  clear 

around  the  square; 
One  end  is  growing  in  the  ground  —  the  other 

in  the  air. 

If  earth  possessed  no  grass,  methinks  its  beauty 

would  be  dead ; 
We  'd  have  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  use  baled 

hay  instead. 

I  love  to  sing  its  praises  in  away  none  can  surpass, 
And   poets  everywhere  are  warned   to  "  Please 

keep  off  the  grass." 

9  129 


THE  VILLAGE   GENIUS 

T5  ILL  JONES  was  a  "  genius,"  so  every  one  said, 
"^     A  statement  none  cared  to  refute. 
He  had  more  brilliant  thoughts  stowed  away  in 
his  head 

Than  figures  could  ever  compute. 
He  knew  all  the  things  of  the  earth  and  the  sky, 

In  wisdom  he  seemed  to  excel, 
But  when  it  came  down  to  a  hustle  for  pie 

Bill  never  got  on  very  well. 

He  used  to  write  music  and  knew  how  to  draw, 

Could  teach  any  science  or  art ; 
Was  clever  in  medicine,  understood  law, 

And  had  all  the  isms  by  heart. 
To  hear  him  conversing  one  speedily  guessed 

That  Bill  was  as  sharp  as  a  tack, 
Yet  somehow  or  other  he  never  possessed 

A  whole  suit  of  clothes  to  his  back. 

Bill's  genius  was  known  and  respected  by  all 
In  the  town  where  he  used  to  reside. 
130 


The  Village  Genius 

For  the  rich  and  the  poor,  for  the  great  and  the 

small, 

He  served  as  their  counsel  and  guide. 
He  was  prophet  and  preacher  to  kith  and  to  kin, 

To  friend  and  to  neighbor,  until 
Death   called  him  away,  when   the  whole  town 

chipped  in 
And  bought  a  nice  coffin  for  Bill. 


THE  WORSHIPPERS 

'  •  VHE  poet  looked  at  the  kingly  oak 

And  his  soul  was  lifted  high, 
As  he  saw  its  widespread  arms  invoke 

A  blessing  from  the  sky. 
It  filled  his  breast  with  a  new-found  cheer, 

And  his  heart  seemed  all  elate, 
As  he  spoke  to  the  yeoman,  standing  near, 

And  worshipfully  sighed,  "  It 's  great !  " 

And  the  yeoman  —  one  of  Nature's  lords  - 

Quite  willing  to  agree, 
Said,  "  Yes,  I  reckon  they 's  twenty  cords 

O'  wood  in  that  thair  tree." 


132 


"HOW   BE  YE,   JIM?" 

"  TTOW  be  ye,  Jim  ?  "     That  sunny  voice 

Comes  back  through  the  misty  years, 
And  I  see  the  grace  of  an  old  man's  face 

Smile  up  through  his  happy  tears. 
Long  time  he  strays  down  the  quiet  ways 

Where  the  path  is  strange  and  dim, 
But  I  keep  the  cheer  of  his  love  and  hear 

His  words,  "  How  be  ye,  Jim?" 

There  came  to  me,  as  comes  to  all, 

The  voice  of  Purpose  when 
I  lost  the  joy  of  a  careless  boy 

For  the  broad,  bold  world  of  men ; 
And  the  skies  were  glad  or  dark  or  sad, 

My  thoughts  ran  back  to  him 
Till  we  met  once  more  at  the  old  home  door, 

And  he  said,  "  How  be  ye,  Jim?  " 

Sometime  in  the  far-off  by-and-by, 
When  the  years  are  old  and  gray, 

I  shall  wander  down  from  the  busy  town, 
Through  that  sweet  and  quiet  way. 


"How  be  Ye,  Jim?" 

I  shall  find  the  rills  from  the  rose-crowned  hills, 
And  drink  from  their  blissful  brim ; 

And,  the  best  of  all,  I  shall  hear  him  call 
And  say,  "  How  be  ye,  Jim?  " 


134 


THE  EVERY-DAY  POET 

T  AIN'T  very  much  of  a  poet; 

I  can't  soar  so  awfully  high : 
I  'm  kind  o'  low-geared  an'  I  know  it, 

And  have  to  keep  out  o'  the  sky. 
An'  so  while  my  star-gazin'  brother 

Kin  tickle  the  gods  with  his  pen, 
I  josh  along  somehow  er  other 

And  jes  keep  a-writin'  fer  men. 

I  know  'at  he  's  blissfully  dwellin' 

With  gods  an'  emperian  springs, 
While  I  'm  down  here  simply  a-tellin' 

O'  plain  human  bein's  an'  things.    * 
Yit  while  he  's  up  yender  inditin' 

His  loftier  songs,  I  have  found 
I  do  what  I  call  my  best  writin' 

With  both  o'  my  feet  on  the  ground. 

I  never  have  tackled  a  sonnet; 

I  could  n't  write  one  ef  I  tried, 
An'  put  all  the  folderols  on  it 

Without  gittin'  somepin'  inside. 
135 


The  Every-Day  Poet 

Fer  I  understand  ef  you  fix  it 

To  sell  to  a  big  magazine, 
You  've  got  to  so  fuzzle  an*  mix  it 

'At  no  one  kin  tell  what  you  mean. 

My  mind  ain't  ferever  a-strayin' 

Through  sorrowful  caverns  o'  fog; 
I  Ve  got  a  good  place  an'  I  'm  stayin' 

Right  there  like  a  bump  on  a  log. 
I  know  I  'm  too  cheerful  to  "  strike  it : 

I  ain't  got  no  "  study  "  ner  "  den ;  " 
I  live  with  my  folks  an'  I  like  it, 

An'  jes  keep  a-writin'  fer  men. 


136 


WHEN   THE   TRAIN   COMES   IN 

TT  7ELL,   yes,  I  calkerlate  it  is  a  little  quiet 
W  here 

Fer  one  who  's  b'en  about  the  world  an'  travelled 

fur  an'  near ; 
But,  maybe  'cause  I  never  lived  no  other  place, 

to  me 
The  town  seems  'bout  as  lively  as  a  good  town 

ort  to  be. 

We  go  about  our  bizness  in  a  quiet  sort  o'  way, 
Ner  thinkin'  o'  the  outside  world,  exceptin'  wunst 

a  day 
We  gather  at  the  depot,  where  we  laff  an'  talk 

an*  spin 
Our  yarns  an'  watch  the  people  when  the  train 

comes  in. 


Si  Jenkins,  he 's  the  jestice  o'  the  peace,  he  allers 

spends 
His  money  fer  a  paper  which  he  glances  through 

an'  lends 

'37 


When  the  Train  Comes  in 

To  some  the  other  fellers,  an'  we  all  take  turns 

an*  chat, 
An'  each  one  tells  what  he  Vd  do  ef  he  was  this 

er  that ; 

An'  in  a  quiet  sort  o'  way,  afore  a  hour  's  gone, 
We  git  a  purty  good  idee  o'  what's  a-goin'  on, 
An'  gives  us  lots  to  think  about  until  we  meet  agin 
The  follerin'  to-morrer  when  the  train  comes  in. 

When  I  git  lonesome-like  I  set  aroun'  the  barber 
shop 
Er  corner  groc'ry,  where  I  talk  about  the  growin* 

crop 
With  fellers  from  the  country  ;  an'  if  the  sun  ain't 

out  too  hot, 
We  go  to  pitchin'  hoss-shoes  in  Jed  Thompson's 

vacant  lot 
Behin'  the  livery  stable  ;  an'  afore  the  game  is 

done  * 

As  like  as  not  some  feller  '11  say  his  nag  kin  clean 

outrun 
The  other  feller's,  an'  they  take  'em  out  an*  have 

a  spin ; 
But  all  git  back  in  town  afore  the  train  comes  in. 

138 


When  the  Train  Comes  in 

I  see  it  in  the  papers  'at  some  folks,  when  sum 
mer  's  here, 
Pack  up  their  trunks  an'  journey  to  the  seashore 

every  year 
To  keep    from  gittin'  sunstruck;   I've  a   better 

way  'an  that, 
Fer  when  it 's  hot  I  put  a  cabbage-leaf  inside  my 

hat 
An'  go  about  my  bizness  jes  as  though  it  was  n't 

warm  — 
Fact  is  I  ain't  a-doin'  much  sence  I  moved  off 

my  farm; 
An'  folks  'at  loves  the  outside  world,  if  they  've 

a  mind  to,  kin 
See  all  they  ort  to  of  it  when  the  train  comes  in. 

An'  yit  I  like  excitement,  an'  they 's  nothin'  suits 

me  more 
'An  to  git  three  other  fellers,  so 's  to  make  a  even 

four, 
'At  knows  the  game  jes  to  a  T,  an'  spend  a  half 

a  day 

In  some  good    place    a-fightin'  out  a  battle    at 
.      croquet. 

I39 


When  the  Train  Comes  in 

There  's  Tubbs  who  tends  the  post-office,  an'  old 

Doc  Smith  an'  me 
An'  Uncle  Perry  Louden  —  it  'u'd  do  you  good 

to  see 
Us  fellers  maul  them  balls  aroun' ;  we  meet  time 

an'  agin 
An'  play  an'  play  an'  play  until  the  train  comes 

in. 

An'  take  it  all  in  all  I  bet  you  'd  have  to  look 

aroun' 
A  good,  long  while  afore  you  'd  find  a  nicer  little 

town 
'An  this  'n'  is.      The  people  live  a  quiet  sort  o' 

life, 
Ner  carin'  much  about  the  world  with  all  its  woe 

an*  strife. 
An'  here  I  mean  to  spend  my  days,  an'  when  I 

reach  the  end 
I'll  say,  "God  bless  ye !  "  an'  "  Good-bye,"  to 

every  faithful  friend  ; 
An'  when  they  foller  me  to  where  they  ain't  no 

care  ner  sin, 
I  '11  meet  'em  at  the  depot  when  the  train  comes 

in. 

140 


GRANDFATHER'S   REVERIE 

/"T~NHERE  's  nothin'  nicer 'n  music  when  it  hap- 

pens  fer  to  be 
Some   good,    old-fashioned    tune   we    used   to 

know ; 
But  all  these  modern  airs  we  hear,  er  so  it  seems 

to  me, 

Can't  match  the  dear  old  songs  o'  long  ago. 
The  new-style  oppry-music  which  my  grandchild 

plays  is  fine 

An'  classical,  er  so  I  hear  'em  say, 
But  while  them  blessed  mellerdies  fill  this  old 

heart  o'  mine, 

I  jes  can't  like  the  music  of  to-day. 
An'  when  my  grandchild 's  thrummin',  oh,  I  Ve 

wished  it  o'er  an'  o'er,  — 
An'  felt  the  tears  a-wellin'  in  my  eyes,  — 
Her  grandma  was  a-settin'  there  to  play  fer  me 

once  more 

"  The  mockin'-bird  is  singin'  where  she  lies." 
141 


Grandfather's  Reverie 

It  don't   seem   more  'an   yesterday  when  first  I 

heard  her  play 

The  happy  notes  my  heart  has  held  so  long ; 
But  every  mile  I  travel  on  life's  strangely  windin' 

way 

Is  brightened  by  the  beauty  of  her  song. 
I  turned  the  music  fer  her  an*  she  seemed   so 

sweet  an*  fair, 

So  like  a  blessed  angel  from  above, 
I'm  wishin',  wishin'  all   the   while   I   might  be 

standin'  there 

To  tell  her  o'  my  everlastin'  love. 
I  'd  like  to  whisper  all  the  words  I  dared  not  tell 

her  then, 

An'  lookin'  in  the  beauty  of  her  eyes, 
I  'd  dwell  in  blissful  rapture  while  I  heard  her 

voice  again  — 
"  The  mockin'-bird  is  singin'  where  she  lies." 

Oh,  life  was  good  an*  golden  when  we  journeyed 

side  by  side, 

An'  the  cottage  with  the  roses  roun'  the  door 
Seemed  like  a  dream  o'   beauty  with  my  lovin' 
little  bride 

142 


Grandfather's  Reverie 

A-waitin'  fer  me  when  the  day  was  o'er. 
We   heard   the  birds    a-callin'  from  the   honey- 
locust  trees, 

To  mates  within  the  nest,  their  fond  good-night, 
While  perfume  o'  the  clover  came  like  incense 

on  the  breeze 

As  we  watched  the  sunset  fadin'  from  our  sight. 
An'  as  the  golden  glory  in  the  calm  and  peace 
ful  west 

Is  softened  to  the  twilight  o'  the  skies, 
So  in  the  June  she  fell  asleep,  her  head  upon  my 

breast, 
"  An'  the  mockin'-bird  is  singin'  where  she  lies." 


EASYVILLE 

ASYVILLE  's  a  little  place 

Full  o'  quiet  country  grace,  — 
Fruits  an'  flowers,  birds  an'  trees, 
An'  the  clover-scented  breeze 
Ain't  on  any  railroad,  so 
Don't  have  noisy  trains,  you  know, 
Fer  to  keep  a  soul  distressed 
'At 's  a-tryin'  fer  to  rest. 

In  the  cities,  so  they  say, 
Some  poor  soul,  'bout  every  day, 
Weary  o'  the  grind  an'  toil, 
Shuffles  off  this  mortal  coil. 
I  'm  a  prayin'  Christian  an' 
Hope  to  see  the  Promised  Lan* ; 
Yet,  if  all  is  willin',  I  '11 
Stay  roun'  here  fer  quite  a  while. 

Wish  'at  I  could  have  a  chat 
With  each  tired  mortal  'at 
Thinks  his  life  's  so  big  a  load 
'T  ain't  worth  carryin'  down  the  road. 
144 


Easyville 

Like  to  cheer  him  up  an'  say, 
"  Come  up  home  with  me  an'  stay. 
Don't  you  quit  a-livin'  till 
You  've  inspected  Easyville." 


10  145 


DEACON   SKINNER'S   IDEE 


tell  me  there  's  persumin'  men  revisin' 
o'  the  Bible  ! 
Some  folks  is  so  all-fired  smart,  er  think  they  be, 

they'reli'ble 
To  have  the  stars  all  painted  green,  an'  nen,  some 

future  day, 

They  '11  all  conclude  to  make  the  sun  go  roun' 
the  other  way. 

They'd  like   to   keep   on  with  their   everlastin' 

tinkerin'  till 
They  bu'st  up  everything  an'  make  the  rivers  run 

up-hill. 
An'  if  we  give  'em  time  enough,  I  hain't  a  bit  o' 

doubt, 
They  natchelly  '11  turn  the  hull  creation  inside  out. 

Now,  jes  as  if  the  prophets  an'  the  'postles  an' 

the  rest 
O'  them  'at  writ  the  Bible,  were  n't  the  ones  to 

know  the  best 


Deacon  Skinner's  Idee 

What  ort  to  be  put  in  it !     An'  a  man  who  takes 

away 
Er  adds  to  it  '11  ketch  it  on  the  final  jedgment  day. 

You  can't  raise  crops  by  settin'  roun'  and  simply 

writin'  "  corn," 
An'  folks  as  tries  it  '11  come  out  the  little  end  the 

horn. 
It  ain't  no  trick  to  make  a  book  'at  says  we  all 

kin  go 
A-glidin'  into  heaven ;  but  that  don't  make  it  so. 

They  '11  learn  the  way  's  as  narrer  an'  as  difficult 
to  climb 

An'  as  thorny  as  it  used  to  be  in  our  gran'fathers' 
time; 

An'  find  too  late  the  other  place  as  easy  of  ad 
mission, 

An'  jes  as  hot  as  't  was  afore  they  writ  their  new 
edition. 


147 


UNCLE  NATHAN'S  NOTION 

T  *VE  b'en  down  to  the  meetin'-house  and  heerd 

our  new  divine ; 
I  s'pose  I  ort  to  like  him,  fer  they  say  he 's  mighty 

fine, 
But  I  Ve  growed  sort  o'  fogy-like  and  so  I  '11  have 

to  state 
Ef  he 's  the  new-style  orthodox  I  ain't  jes  up  to 

date. 

I  'm  willin'  to  admit  I  like  the  pleasin'  way  he  paints 
The  future  o1  the  race  an'  makes  the  meanest 

mortals  saints ; 

But  ef  a  feller  never  has  to  answer  fer  his  sin, 
St.  Peter  better  quit   his  job  an*  let  the  crowd 

march  in. 

I  may  be  kind  o*  stupid-like,  but  I  hain't  never 

learnt 
How  we  kin  handle  fire  an'  not  git  all  our  fingers 

burnt. 

148 


Uncle  Nathan's  Notion 

I  don't  see   how   a  feller  who 's  a-doin'  wicked 

things 
Kin  ever  git  his  soul  in  shape  to  make  it  fit  his 

wings. 

In  heaven  would  you  care  to  be  with  men  who, 

all  their  lives, 
Was  ornery  to  their  neighbors  an*  their  children 

an'  their  wives  ? 
Is  rascals  goin' to  fare  the  same  as  good  folks? 

No,  sirree ! 
An'  ef  there  ain't  no  hell,  by  jing !  I  think  there 

ort  to  be. 


149 


WHEN  THE  SUMMER  BOARDERS  COME 

S,  June  is  here  an'  now,  byjing!  it  won't 

be  long  until 
Our  good,  old-fashioned  neighborhood  'at  seems 

so  kind  o'  still 
An'  solemn-like  at  times,  as  though  the  world  had 

shut  us  in, 
'LI  sort  o'  waken  from  her  dream  an'  stir  herself 

agin. 
The  medder's  full  o'  daisies  an'  the  trees  is  full  o' 

bloom, 
An'    after  dark  the   fireflies  is   sparkin*   in   the 

gloom ; 
The  birds  is  busy  buildin'  nests,  the  hives  is  full 

o'  hum ; 
It's  jes    about    the   season   when   the   summer 

boarders  come. 
» 
Peculiar  lot  o'  people  is  the  ones  'at  come  from 

town, 
They're  full  o'  funny  notions,  but  they  plank  the 

money  down. 

150 


When  the  Summer  Boarders  Come 

It  don't  much  matter  what  they  git  ner  what  they 

have  to  pay,  — 
Jes  give  'em  lots  o'  buttermilk  an'  let  'em  have 

their  way. 
Tears  's  if  they  yearn  fer  scenery  an'   never  git 

enough 
O'   sunsets  an'  o'    moonlight  nights,  an'  highty- 

tighty  stuff; 
But  sence  they  pay  me  fer  it,  why,  I  'm  keepin' 

mighty  mum ; 
You  '11  find   me  diplermatic  when   the   summer 

boarders  come. 


One  year  I  thought  I'd  please  'em,  so  I  spent  a 
good,  big  pile 

A-buyin'  tony  fixin's  an'  a-slingin'  on  the  style. 

I  painted  up  the  house  an'  barn  an'  built  a  picket 
fence, 

"  All  moderrun  conveniences "  I  planned  at  big 
expense. 

I  got  some  patent  foldin'-beds  an'  a  pianner, 
too, 

An'  tried  to  make  the  place  appear  like  city  man 
sions  do, 


When  the  Summer  Boarders  Come 

But     when    the    folks     come — jiminy!  —  they 

wouldn't  stop  a  day; 
Such  "  comforts  "  made  'em  tired,  so  they  'd  up 

an'  go  away. 

So  then  I  scraped  the  paint  all  off  the  fence  an' 

barn  an'  house, 
An'  cast  aside  my  nice  store  clothes  fer  overalls 

an'  blouse. 
In  place  o'  every  door-knob  I  contrived  a  wooden 

latch, 
I  ripped  the  shingles  off  the  roof  an'  made  a  leaky 

thatch. 

The  patent  pump  I  traded  fer  a  windlass  an'  a  rope, 
The  bath-room  is  a  horse-trough  an'  a  hunk  o' 

home-made  soap. 

The  foldin'-beds  an'  likewise  the  planner's  cheer 
ful  thrum  — 
Oh,  we  hide  'em  in  the  attic  when  the  summer 

boarders  come. 

An'  sence  I  reconstructed  things  the  house  has 

overflowed 
With  summer  boarders  every  year  —  'pears  like 

the  whole  world  knowed 
152 


When  the  Summer  Boarders  Come 

'At  here's  the  place  to  find  the  joys  'at's  near  to 

Nature's  heart, 
The  extry,  duplex,  simon-pure,  without  a  touch 

o'  art. 
Folks  like  my  homely  dialect  an'  ask  me  fer  to 

spin 
Some  simple  yarn  an'   by  an'  by  they  '11  ask  fer 

it  agin ; 
So  I  've  jes  got  to  jolly  'em;  but  say,  it's  tough, 

by  gum ! 
Fer  me  who  's  been  through  Harvard,  when  the 

summer  boarders  come. 


153 


THE  PROCRASTINATIONIST 


used  to  be  a  feller  who 
'U'd  sit  an'  tell  what  he  'u'd  do. 
He  'd  show  'em  how  to  make  a  hit 
When  wunst  he  got  aroun'  to  it. 
An'  he  was  smart.     No  one  'u'd  doubt 
He  knowed  what  he  was  talkin'  'bout  ; 
It  seemed  jes  's  if  he  'd  clearly  planned 
Success,  ner  missed  a  "  if"  er  "and." 

He  said  he  'd  write  a  book  in  which 
'T  was  certain  he  'u'd  strike  it  rich. 
He  'd  outlined  lots  o'  plays  'at  he 
'U'd  bet  'at  folks  'u'd  flock  to  see. 
He  had  a  lectur'  on  the  string 
He  knowed  'u'd  draw  like  everything; 
An'  lots  o'  schemes  to  bring  him  gold, 
More  'an  a  circus  tent  'u'd  hold. 

I  Ve  heerd  that  feller  sit  an'  spin 
His  plans  fer  scoopin'  up  the^tin 
Until  down  in  my  bones  I  felt 
He  'd  surely  die  a  Vanderbilt. 


The  Procrastinationist 

When  wtmst  he  got  right  down  to  biz, 
I  knowed  the  earth  'u'd  soon  be  his, 
An'  when  he  asked  me,  now  an'  nen, 
I  let  him  have  a  "  five  "  er  "  ten." 

The  years  went  on,  as  years  '11  do, 

An'  he  kep'  on  a-talkin',  too, 

Till  in  the  potter's  field  one  day 

They  laid  this  man  o'  words  away, 

An'  writ  upon  a  slab  above 

That  soul  'at  allers  seemed  to  love 

To  chin  an'  chin  an'  chin  an'  chin, 

"  Here  lies  a  man  who  might  'a'  been." 


HANK  RAINES'S   PHILOSOPHY 

TT'OU've  all  heerd  tell  o'  Haines,  I  s'pose?  — 

•*"       Hank  Haines  —  well,  anyway,  by  jing! 
Now,  there  's  a  man  '11  quit  his  meals  to  argify 

'bout  anything. 
It's  joy   fer   him    to   git   some   fact   concernin' 

which  they  ain't  a  doubt 
In  anybody's   mind,  an'  nen  jes  turn   the    hull 

thing  inside  out. 
Why,  all  the  wise  men  o'  the  past,  Hank  takes 

'em  up  an',  one  by  one, 
He  proves  they  was  n't  any  good,  an'  shows  you 

what  they  might  'a'  done. 
An'  all  the  great  philosophers  an'  all  the  sages 

did  n't  know 
One  half  the  facts  'at  Hank  kin  tell,  ef  what  he 

says  is  so  is  so. 

The  other  afternoon  when  Hank  was  down  at 

Slocum's  groc'ry  store, 
Where  he's  most  allers  sure  to  be  with  'bout  a 

half  a  dozen  more, 

156 


Hank  Haines's  Philosophy 

An'  Hank  was  tellin'  how  ef  he  was  king  the 

earth  would  be  as  nice 
An'  kind  an'  lovin'-like  an'  sweet  as  what  it  is  in 

Paradise,  — 
Hank's  wife  slipped  in  an'  said,  "  Hank  Haines, 

you  know  you  ort  to  be  at  work, 
You  keep  me  slavin'  day  an'  night  while  you  jes 

loaf,  you  lazy  shirk  ! 
You  're  roun'  fer  meals  three  times  a  day  but 

never  earn  a  single  cent ! 
You  trot  yourself  right  home,"  said  she,  "  an'  cut 

some  wood  !  "     An'  Hank,  he  went. 


157 


A   MINING-CAMP   INCIDENT 

TWAS  lively  'bout  our  minin'-town ; 
The  men  a-hustiin'  up  an'  down, 
An'  busy  diggin',  night  an'  day, 
A-huntin'  claims  where  dirt  'u'd  pay. 
We  'd  barely  time  to  eat  er  sleep, 
An',  weather  good  er  bad,  we  'd  keep 
A-workin'  on  with  drill  an'  pick, 
An'  no  one  dreamed  o'  gettin'  sick. 

With  heaps  o'  gold  there  to  be  got, 

'T  ain't  strange  we  humped  ourselves  a  lot, 

An'  toted  dirt  an'  lifted  rocks, 

Each  man  as  strong  as  any  ox. 

T  was  lively  workin'  there,  you  bet, 

Where  every  feller  tried  to  get 

His  hands  on  all  the  dust  he  could, 

An'  jes  laid  low  a-sawin'  wood. 

We  'd  scores  o'  miners,  rough  an'  brown, 
But  not  a  woman  in  the  town,  — 
Not  one  in  the  hull  calabash ! 
We  made  our  coffee,  cooked  our  hash, 


A  Mining- Camp  Incident 

An'  done  the  sewin',  what  was  done, 
An'  baked  our  bread,  an'  every  one 
Seemed  quite  content  to  do  without 
"  The  fairer  sex  "  you  read  about. 

'T  was  sech  a  'high  an'  healthy  place 

We  'd  never  had  a  single  case 

O'  sickness  sence  the  camp  begun, 

An'  it  astonished  every  one 

When  word  was  passed  about  one  day, 

"  A  doctor  's  comin'  here  to  stay !  " 

An*  everybody  joked  an'  said 

The  doctor  'u'd  be  the  first  one  dead. 

But,  sufferin'  fish-hooks  !  was  n't  we 

A  flabbergasted  crowd  to  see 

A  woman  come  to  camp  one  day 

An'  hang  her  shingle  out?     Why,  say! 

'T  was  sech  a  howlin'  big  surprise 

We  hardly  dast  believe  our  eyes ; 

An*  all  the  fellers  stood  about 

As  though  it  jes  clean  knocked  'em  out. 

"  Kate  Smith,  M.D.,"  her  shingle  read, 
An',  sirs,  she  meant  jes  what  she  said. 


A  Mining- Camp  Incident 

She  proved  a  lady  through  an'  through, 

But  'twas  n't  but  a  day  er  two 

Till  men  who  'd  been  so  strong  an'  well 

All  had  the  blamedest,  sickest  spell, 

An'  not  a  man  in  all  the  camp 

But  what  he  had  a  pain  er  cramp. 

You  never  see  so  many  ills ! 

It  kep'  her  busy  sellin'  pills 

An'  powders  ;  she  was  makin'  more 

Than  any  doctor  made  afore. 

Them  who  had  boasted  bein'  strong 

All  fell  to  ailin'  right  along ; 

But  every  man  'at  sought  her  art 

We  knowed  had  trouble  with  his  heart. 

It 's  hard  to  tell  what  we  'd  'a'  done, 
All  gettin'  sicker,  every  one ; 
Our  claims  a-goin'  all  to  smash, 
The  doctor  gettin'  all  our  cash  ; 
But,  finally,  Jed  Watkins,  who 
Had  saved  o'  gold  a  ton  er  two, 
He  wed  the  doctor  one  fine  day 
An'  took  her  to  the  East  to  stay. 
160 


A  Mining-Camp  Incident 

T  was  curious  ;  as  soon  as  she 

Was  wed  an'  left  the  camp,  why,  we 

All  went  about  our  work  again. 

You  never  see  a  lot  o'  men 

Who  'd  all  perfessed  to  be  so  sick 

Get  over  anything  so  quick. 

But  this  we  learned  —  gals,  when  they  please, 

Kin  cause  er  cure  the  heart-disease. 


ii  161 


THE   "JUMPIN'-OFF    PLACE" 

VT7HEN  we  reach  the  jumpin'-off  place,  why, 

I  'd  jes  like  to  know 
Which  way  a  feller  ort  to  jump,  an'  where  he  's 

goin'  to  go. 
An'  ain't  there  some  delightful  way  in  which  it 

may  be  planned 
So  as  a  mortal  can  pervide  a  nice,  soft  place  to 

land? 

To  fill  our  pockets  full  o*  gold,  it  somehow  seems 

to  me, 
Would  not   prove,  as   the  feller  says,  the  very 

best  idee ; 
Fer  gold  an'  all  sech  earthly  things,  ef  what  I 

think  is  right, 
'LI  only  help  to  make  the  jolt  the  harder  when 

we  light. 

I  have  a  notion  if  we  try  all  through  our  livin' 

years 
To  fill  the  world  with  sun  an'  shine,  an'  charm 

away  the  tears, 

162 


The  "  Jumpin'-off  Place  " 

An'  speak  the  kind  an'  lovin'  words,  and  do  the 

lovin'  deeds 
'At  all  the  while  an'  everywhere  'most  everybody 

needs, 

'At  we  '11  become  so  kind  o'  used  to  angel  ways 

an'  things 
'At  in  our  hearts  we  '11  sort  o'  grow  a  pair  o' 

purty  wings, 
So  when  we  come  to  leave  the  world  we  '11  jes 

jump  off  an'  fly 
An'  not  go  tumblin'   everywhere,  but  soar  up  in 

the  sky. 


163 


TAKE    IT   EASY 

TpVON'T  you  worry, 

-*^  Don't  you  hurry ; 
Take  it  easy  when  you  can. 

Allers  choppin' 

Without  stoppin' 
To  grind  your  ax  's  a  foolish  plan. 

Don't  keep  mussin' 

Roun'  an'  fussin' 
Over  somepin'.     Some  I  know 

'S  so  all-fired 

Worn  an'  tired, 
Make  the  folks  about  'em  so. 


Don't  keep  fightin' 

Without  sightin' ; 
Take  your  time  an'  git  your  aim. 

Don't  ferever 

Shoot  an'  never 
Bag  your  proper  share  o'  game. 


Take  it  Easy 

Don't  you  borrow 

Care  an*  sorrow; 
Make  more  progress,  so  I  find, 

Sometimes  settin' 

Roun'  a-lettin' 
Things  go  'bout  as  they  Ve  a  mind. 

Like  a  feller 

'At 's  kind  o'  meller 
An'  easy-like  —  no  time  to  see 

Some  infernal 

Thing  eternal- 
Ly  distressin'  him  an'  me. 


'6s 


ME   AN'   'LIZA  JANE 

TT  's  fifty  year  an'  more  ago  sence  me  an'  'Liza 
Jane, 

A-walkin'  home  from  meetin',  through  a  sweet 
an'  shady  lane, 

Agreed  it  was  the  best  fer  us  to  join  our  hands 
ferlife: 

An'  hain't  I  allers  blessed  the  day  she  said  she  'd 
be  my  wife ! 

We  've  had  our  little  fallin's-out,  the  same  as  all 
the  rest, 

But  all  the  while  I  've  knowed  'at  she  's  the  kind 
est  an'  the  best, 

The  truest  an'  fergivin'est,  fer  I  begin  to  see 

She 's  had  to  be  an  angel  fer  to  git  along  with  me. 

Fer  sence  I'm  gittin'  on  in  years  I  sort  o'  set 

around 
An'  kind  o'  specellate  about  the  things  'at 's  more 

perfound ; 

166 


Me  an'  'Liza  Jane 

An'  as  my  mind  goes  strayin'  back,  along  the 

path  o'  life, 
I  jes  begin  to  see  how  much  I  owe  that  good, 

old  wife. 
You  would  n't  think  her  handsome,  'cause  your 

eyes  '11  never  see 
The  many  lovin'  deeds  she 's  done  to  make  her 

dear  to  me. 
But,  say !  the  things  'at  she 's  gone  through,  fer 

love  o'  me  an'  mine, 
Is  'nuff  to  make  a  feller  think  her  beauty  most 

divine ! 

I  s'pose  I  done  the  best  I    could  to  make   her 

burdens  light, 
Yit,  lookin'   back,   I    seem  to  see   so    much   'at 

wasn't  right  — 
So  much  'at  brought  her  sorrow  —  yit,  through 

all  the  changin'  years, 
I've  seen  her  keep    her   faith   in   me,   a-smilin' 

through  her  tears. 
An'  now  we're   old  together,  but   to    me    she's 

young  an'  fair 
As  when  the  rose  was  in  her  cheek,  the  sunshine 

in  her  hair; 


Me  an'  'Liza  Jane 

An'  while  I  hold  her  hand  in  mine  an'  journey 

down  the  hill, 
I'll   make   life's   sunset    good    an'   sweet  —  God 

helpin'  me,  I  will ! 


1 68 


AN   AUTUMNAL   REVERIE 

TUST  an  humble,  plain-faced  woman, 
"*      Middle-aged  an'  somewhat  gray; 
True  an*  wholesome-like  an'  human,  — 

Kind  o'  grave  an'  kind  o'  gay. 
Makes  me  think  o'  early  autumn, 

Grapes  a-purplin'  on  the  vine, 
Where  the  first  faint  frost  has  caught  'em, 

Caught  an'  kissed  'em  into  wine. 

Deep-voiced  boys  now  call  her  "  mother," 

Baby  boys  that 's  grown  to  be, 
By  some  magic  trick  er  other, 

In  a  year  as  tall  as  she : 
Girls  that  yesterday  were  clingin' 

To  her  skirts,  I  've  seen  o'  late 
With  the  neighbor  boys  a-swingin' 

At  the  rose-wreathed  garden  gate. 

While  across  her  brow  Time's  finger 
Writes  the  plainer  tales  o'  truth, 

In  her  heart  there  still  must  linger 
All  the  flowery  dreams  o'  youth. 
169 


An  Autumnal  Reverie 

Fields  are  sweet  with  bloomy  clover, 
Life  is  crowned  with  blissful  joys ; 

Love's  pure  gold  she  's  coinin'  over 
In  her  happy  girls  an'  boys. 

Seems  as  though  the  cup  Fate  brings  us 

Is  a  sort  o'  bitter-sweet, 
Kind  o'  soothes  an'  kind  o'  stings  us,  — 

Mirth  an'  melancholy  meet. 
Grief  comes  hushin'  all  our  laughter, 

Fairest  skies  are  clouded  o'er, 
But  the  sunshine  follows  after, 

Always  brighter  than  before. 

Spring  may  fade  an'  Summer  vanish, 

Autumn  yield  to  Winter's  sway, 
Yet  the  years  can  never  banish 

Beauty  Love  has  crowned  with  May. 
In  the  chimney-corner,  cozy, 

Dreamin'  in  the  firelight's  glow, 
I  shall  see  her  cheeks  blush,  rosy, 

As  I  saw  them  long  ago. 


170 


"WHITHER?" 

TT's  a  long,  long  time  sence  mother  went  away, 
Sence  she  went  away  an'  took  the  sunshine 

with  her ; 
But  I  'm  thinkin'  an'  a-thinkin'  about  her  every 

day, 

An'  all  the  while  a-askin'  "  Whither,  whither?" 
All  the  while  a-askin'  "  Whither?" 

The    children    all     imagine    'at    I  'm    tolerably 

content, 
An'  it 's  well  they  never  guess  how  much  I  'd 

ruther  — 
Though  all  o'  them  have  done  their  best  to  please 

me  sence  she  went  — 
Be   where   'at   I    could    spend    my  days  with 

mother; 
Yes,  sir !  I  'd  like  to  be  with  mother. 

It  'pears  like  she  can't  be  so  very,  very  fur, 

Fer  every  now  an'  nen  she  seems  so  near  me, 
Ef  no  one  else  is  listenin',  I  sort  o'  talk  with  her; 
An'  somehow  I  believe  'at  she  can  hear  me ; 
I  really  b'lieve  'at  she  can  hear  me. 
171 


"  Whither  ? " 

An'  take  it  in  the  night,  when  I  'm  sort  o'  half 

asleep 

An'  I  think  o'  somepin'  'at  I  want  to  tell  her, 
An'  fin*  my  arm  is  empty  where  she  allers  used 

to  keep 

Her  head,  'at 's  mighty  tryin'  on  a  feller ; 
You  bet !    'at 's  tryin'  on  a  feller. 

It 's  a  long,  long  time  sence  mother  went  away, 
Sence  she  went  away  an'  took  the  sunshine  with 

her; 
But  I  'm  thinkin'  an'  a-thinkin'  about  her  every 

day, 

An'  all  the  while  a-askin'  "  Whither,  whither?" 
All  the  while  a-askin'  "  Whither?  " 


172 


AUNT   LUCINDA'S   COOKIES 

BAKER,  you  have  n't,  in  all  your  shop, 

A  cookie  fit  to  be  tried, 
For  the  art  of  making  them  came  to  a  stop 

When  my  Aunt  Lucinda  died. 
I  can  see  her  yet,  with  her  sleeves  uprolled, 

As  I  watch  her  mix  and  knead 
The  flour  and  eggs,  with  their  yolks  of  gold, 
The  butter  and  sugar,  just  all  they  '11  hold, 
And  spice  them  with  caraway  seed. 

Oh,  that  caraway  seed !  I  see  the  nook 

Where  it  grew  by  the  garden-wall ; 
And  just  below  is  the  little  brook 

With  the  laughing  waterfall. 
Beyond  are  the  meadows,  sweet  and  fair, 

And  flecked  with  the  sun  and  shade ; 
And  all  the  beauties  of  earth  and  air 
Were  in  those  cookies,  so  rich  and  rare, 

My  Aunt  Lucinda  made. 
173 


Aunt  Lucinda's  Cookies 

So,  add  one  more  to  the  world's  lost  arts, 

For  the  cookies  you  make  are  sad, 
And  they  have  n't  the  power  to  stir  our  hearts 

That  Aunt  Lucinda's  had ; 
For  I  see  her  yet,  with  sleeves  uprolled, 

And  I  watch  her  mix  and  knead 
The  flour  and  eggs,  with  their  yolks  of  gold, 
The  butter  and  sugar,  just  all  they  '11  hold, 

And  spice  them  with  caraway  seed. 


THE   OLD   BELL-COW 

T T 7HEN  I  was  but  a  boy,  I  loved  so  happily 

to  roam 
Through  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  dear  old 

country  home ; 
At  dewy  morn  to  pasture  I  would  drive  the  cows, 

and  when 
The  shades  of  eventide  drew  on,  I  drove  them 

home  again. 
And  one  among  their  number  I  remember  very 

well,— 
It  seems  but  yesterday  I  saw  the  cow  that  wore 

the  bell ; 
She  was  not  fairer  than  the  rest,  nor  any  finer 

breed, 
Yet  all   the  others  followed   her,  wherever  she 

might  lead; 
And  in  my  youthful  mind  I  used  to  wonder  why 

and  how 

It  was  that  all  the  cattle  tagged  the  old  bell-cow. 
'75 


The  Old  Bell-Cow 

Strange    years    of    shadow   and    of   shine   have 

passed  away  since  then, 
And  now  I  mingle  daily  with  the  hosts  of  busy 

men. 
And    still  I    muse  more  earnestly  than  what   I 

used  to  do, 
For    men,    I    find,    are   likewise    quite    peculiar 

creatures,  too. 
And  some  have  natures  made  of  gold,  without  a 

speck  or  flaw, 
While  some  are  only  gilded  forms,   all  padded 

out  with  straw ; 
And  while  the  modest,  worthy  man  the  world  is 

slow  to  heed, 
The  counterfeit,  who  loudly  brags,  steps  in  and 

takes  the  lead. 
The  one  who  makes  the  noise  is  sure  to  catch  the 

crowd ;   and  npw 

I  know  why  all  the  cattle  tagged  the  old  bell- 
cow. 


O 


THE    GOLDEN   AGE 

IH,  the  olden,  golden  days, 

Oh,  the  pebbled  path  that  strays 
Where  the  yellow  willow  quivers  by  the   river's 

winding  ways ; 
Oh,  the  lazy,  hazy  stream 
Where  the  lilies  drowse  and  dream, 
Their  sunny  hearts  of  honey  in  their  burnished 
bowls  of  cream. 

Oh,  the  youthful,  truthful  times, 
When  the  world  was  wrapped  in  rhymes, 
And  hills  and  dells  were  silver  bells    that  rang 

their  rarest  chimes ; 
Oh,  still  they  thrill  me  when 
I  thwart  the  thoughts  of  men, 
And,  just   a   boy,   amid  the  joy  of  living,  live 
again. 


12 


I77 


FOLLOWING   THE   BAND 

T    IFE  was  a  joy  when  I  was  a  boy, 
~*     In  the  days  of  long  ago, 
When  eye  and  ear  could  see  and  hear 

The  things  it  was  good  to  know. 
But  the  kind  old  earth  once  glad  with  mirth 

And  pleasures  high  and  grand, 
Seems  stale  and  tame  since  I  became 

Too  big  to  follow  the  band. 

Yet  I  dare  say  earth  holds  to-day 

About  as  much  or  more 
Of  joy  and  cheer,  right  now  and  here, 

Than  ever  it  held  before. 
But  by  our  pride  we  're  now  denied 

Good  gifts  on  every  hand  ; 
We  Ve  grown  too  proud  to  follow  the  crowd, 

Too  big  to  follow  the  band. 

I  'd  like  to  stray  in  a  careless  way 

Through  the  broad,  green  fields  of  youth, 

And  wander  back  along  life's  track 
To  the  blissful  springs  of  truth. 
178 


Following  the  Band 

I  'd  like  to  trade  my  woes,  self-made, 
And  the  cares  that  come  to  men, 

For  the  keen  delight  of  a  boy's  glad  right 
To  follow  the  band  again. 


179 


THE   MOTHER'S   DREAM 

T>OY,  your  mother's  dreaming  ;  there 's  a  pic- 

-•^         ture  pure  and  bright 

That  gladdens  all  her  homely  tasks  at  morning, 

noon,  and  night; 
A  picture  where  is  blended  all  the  beauty  born 

of  hope, 
A  view  that  takes  the  whole   of  life  within  its 

loving  scope. 

She's  dreaming,  fondly  dreaming  of  the  happy 

future  when 
Her  boy  shall    stand  the  equal  of   his  grandest 

fellow-men. 
Her   boy,  whose  heart  with  goodness   she   has 

labored  to  imbue, 

Shall  be  in  her  declining  years   her  lover  proud 
and  true. 

She 's  growing  old  ;    her  cheeks  have  lost    the 

blush  and  bloom  of  spring, 
But  oh !  her  heart  is  proud  because  her  son  shall 

be  a  king ; 

1 80 


The  Mother's  Dream 

Shall  be  a  king  of  noble  deeds,  with  goodness 

crowned,  and  own 
The  hearts  of  all   his  fellow-men,  and  she  shall 

share  his  throne. 

Boy,  your  mother  's  dreaming;  there  's  a  picture 

pure  and  bright 
That  gladdens  all  her  homely  tasks  at  morning, 

noon,  and  night ; 
A  view  that  takes  the  whole  of  life  within  its 

loving  scope ; 
O  boy,  beware !  you  must  not  mar  that  mother's 

dream  and  hope. 


181 


THE   WORLD'S  VICTORS 

TTURRAH  for  the  beacon-lights  of  earth,  — 

The  brave,  triumphant  boys  ! 
Hurrah  for  their  joyous  shouts  of  mirth, 

And  their  blood-bestirring  noise  ! 
The  bliss  of  being  shall  never  die, 

Nor  the  old  world  seem  depressed 
While  a  boy's  stout  heart  is  beating  high, 

Like  a  glad  drum  in  his  breast. 

Ye  wise  professors  of  bookish  things, 

That  burden  the  souls  of  men, 
Go  trade  your  lore  for  a  boy's  glad  wings, 

And  fly  to  the  stars  again. 
Nor  grope  through  a  shrunken,  shrivelled  world 

That  the  years  have  made  uncouth, 
But  march  'neath  the  flaunting  flags  unfurled 

By  the  valiant  hands  of  youth. 

Oh,,  never  the  lamp  of  age  burns  low 

In  its  cold  and  empty  cup, 
But  Youth  comes  by  with  his  face  aglow, 

And  a  beacon-light  leaps  up. 
182 


The  World's  Victors 

The  gloomiest  skies  grow  bright  and  gay, 
And  the  whispered  clouds  of  doubt 

Are  swept  from  the  brows  of  the  world  away 
By  a  boy's  triumphant  shout. 


183 


MOTHER'S  APRON-STRINGS 

T T 7HEN  I  was  but  a  verdant  youth 

I  thought  the  truly  great 
Were  those  who  had  attained,  in  truth, 

To  man's  mature  estate. 
And  none  my  soul  so  sadly  tried 

Or  spoke  such  bitter  things 
As  he  who  said  that  I  was  tied 

To  mother's  apron-strings. 

I  loved  my  mother,  yet  it  seemed 

That  I  must  break  away 
And  find  the  broader  world  I  dreamed 

Beyond  her  presence  lay. 
But  I  have  sighed  and  I  have  cried 

O'er  all  the  cruel  stings 
I  would  have  missed  had  I  been  tied 

To  mother's  apron-strings. 

O  happy,  trustful  girls  and  boys ! 

The  mother's  way  is  best. 
She  leads  you  mid  the  fairest  joys, 

Through  paths  of  peace  and  rest. 
184 


Mother's  Apron-Strings 

If  you  would  have  the  safest  guide, 
And  drink  from  sweetest  springs, 

Oh,  keep  your  hearts  forever  tied 
To  mother's  apron-strings. 


185 


THE  UNWRITTEN  LETTER 

THE  streets  of  the  city  seemed  filled  with 
delight 

And  glad  with  the  babble  of  joy; 
Gay  voices  of  pleasure  made  merry  the  night 

And  dwelt  in  the  thoughts  of  a  boy. 
The  reefs  of  distress  in  that  ocean  of  strife 

Were  hid  in  its  sparkle  and  foam, 
And  youth  found  no  time  in  the  laughter  of  life 
To  write  to  the  loved  ones  at  home. 

He  loved  them,  ah  yes !  for  he  knew  they  were 

true 

And  would  serve  him  in  sickness  or  health, 
No  task  but  their  hands  would  most  joyfully  do 

To  aid  him  in  want  or  in  wealth. 
At    morning   and   evening   they   whispered   his 

name, 

Though  far  from  their  paths  he  would  roam, 
Yet   found   he   no   time   in   his   pleasures  —  for 
shame !  — 

To  write  to  the  loved  ones  at  home. 
186 


The  Unwritten  Letter 

A  message,  —  "  Your   mother  is   dead,  and  she 
died 

With  the  name  of  her  boy  on  her  tongue." 
And  oh,  for  the  letter  her  heart  was  denied,  — 

The  song  that  can  never  be  sung ! 
And  all  through  the  years  he  was  angry  at  Fate, 

Quite  after  the  manner  of  men, 
But  oh,  'twas  forever  and  ever  too  late 

To  write  to  that  mother  again ! 


187 


THE  WHISTLING  BOY 

TT  7HEN   the   curtains    of  night,    'tween    the 
dark  and  the  light, 

Drop  down  at  the  set  of  the  sun, 
And  the  toilers  who  roam,  to  the   loved  ones 
come  home, 

As  they  pass  by  my  window  is  one 
Whose  coming  I  mark,  for  the  song  of  the  lark 

As  it  joyously  soars  in  the  sky 
Is  no  dearer  to  me  than  the  notes,  glad  and  free, 

Of  the  boy  who  goes  whistling  by. 

If  a  sense  of  unrest  settles  over  my  breast 

And  my  spirit  is  clouded  with  care, 
It  all  flies  away  if  he  happens  to  stray 

Past  my  window  a-whistling  an  air. 
And  I  never  shall  know  how  much  gladness  I 

owe 

To  this  joy  of  the  ear  and  the  eye, 
But  I  'm  sure  I  'm  in  debt  for  much  pleasure  I 

get 

To  the  boy  who  goes  whistling  by. 
188 


The  Whistling  Boy 

And  this  music  of  his,  how  much  better  it  is 

Than  to  burden  his  life  with  a  frown, 
For  the  toiler  who  sings  to  his  purposes  brings 

A  hope  his  endeavor  to  crown. 
And  whenever  I  hear  his  glad  notes,  full  and 
clear, 

I  say  to  myself  I  will  try 
To  make  all  of  life  with  a  joy  to  be  rife, 

Like  the  boy  who  goes  whistling  by. 


189 


THE   SECRET   OF  SUCCESS 


day,    in    huckleberry-time,   when    little 
Johnny  Flails 
And  half-a-dozen  other  boys  were  starting  with 

their  pails 
To  gather  berries,  Johnny's  pa,  in  talking  with 

him,  said 
That  he  could  tell  him  how  to  pick  so  he  'd  come 

out  ahead: 
"  First  find  your  bush,"  said  Johnny's  pa,  "  and 

then  stick  to  it  till 
You've  picked  it  clean.     Let  those  go  chasing 

all  about  who  will 
In  search  of  better  bushes  ;  but  it  's  picking  tells, 

my  son  — 
To  look  at  fifty  bushes  does  n't  count  like  pick 

ing  one." 

And  Johnny  did  as  he  was  told  ;  and,  sure  enough, 

he  found, 
By  sticking  to  his  bush  while  all  the  others  chased 

around 

190 


The  Secret  of  Success 

In  search  of  better  picking,  't  was  as  his  father 

said; 
For,  while  the  others  looked,  he  worked,  and  thus 

came  out  ahead. 
And  Johnny  recollected  this  when  he  became  a 

man, 
And  first  of  all  he  laid  him  out  a  well-determined 

plan; 
So,  while  the  brilliant  triflers  failed  with  all  their 

brains  and  push, 
Wise,  steady-going  Johnny  won  by  "  sticking  to 

his  bush." 


191 


NOW  AND   WAITAWHILE 

LITTLE  Jimmie  Waitawhile  and  little  Johnnie 
Now 
Grew  up  in  homes  just  side  by  side;   and  that, 

you  see,  is  how 
I  came  to  know  them  both  so  well,  for  almost 

every  day 

I  used  to  watch  them  in  their  work  and  also  in 
their  play. 

Little  Jimmie  Waitawhile  was  bright  and  steady, 

too, 
But  never  ready  to  perform  what  he  was  asked 

to  do; 
"  Wait  just  a  minute,"  he  would  say,  "  I  '11  do  it 

pretty  soon," 
And  things  he  should  have  done  at  morn  were 

never  done  at  noon. 

He  put  off  studying  until  his  boyhood  days  were 

gone; 
He  put  off  getting  him  a  home  till  age  came 

Stealing  on ; 

192 


Now  and  Waitawhile 

He  put  off  everything,  and  so  his  life  was  not  a 


And  all  because  he  waited  "just  a  minute"  while 
a  boy. 


But  little  Johnnie  Now  would  say,  when  he  had 

work  to  do, 
"There's  no  time  like  the  present  time,"   and 

gaily  put  it  through. 
And  when  his  time  for  play  arrived  he  so  enjoyed 

the  fun; 
His   mind  was    not  distressed  with  thoughts  of 

duties  left  undone. 


In  boyhood  he  was  studious  and  laid  him  out  a 

plan 
Of  action  to  be  followed  when  he  grew  to  be  a 

man; 
And  life  was  as  he  willed  it,  all  because  he  'd  not 

allow 
His  tasks  to  be  neglected,  but  would  always  do 

them  "  now." 

'3  i93 


Now  and  Waitawhilc 

And  so  in  every  neighborhood  are  scores  of  little 
boys 

Who  by  and  by  must  work  with  tools  when  they 
have  done  with  toys. 

And  you  know  one  of  them,  I  guess,  because  I 
see  you  smile ; 

And  is  he  little  Johnnie  Now  or  Jimmie  Wait- 
awhile  ? 


194 


A  DAY-DREAM 

JOHN  HENRY  sat  on  a  hard,  oak  bench  in  the 
^  Big  Grove  district  school ; 

He  was  tired  of  being  shut  indoors;  he  was  tired 

of  rote  and  rule ; 

He  was  tired  of  everything  dull  and  slow, 
And  he  sighed  to  get  outdoors  and  grow. 

The  old,  school  clock  ticked  on,  "  tick-tock,"  but 

so  lazily,  alas ! 
That  the  poor  boy  sighed  to  himself  and  thought 

the  day  would  never  pass ; 
And  he  said,  with  a  tinge  of  deep  disgust, 
"  I  wish  that  blamed  old  clock  'u'd  bu'st !  " 

And  by  and  by  on  the  slanting  desk  he  laid  his 

weary  head, 
And  looked  outdoors  where  the  apple-trees  were 

blooming  white  and  red ; 
Out  through  the  window  where  it  seemed 
About  like  Paradise,  and  dreamed. 


A  Day-Dream 

He  dreamed  of  the  meadows  fresh  and  fair,  and 

he  dreamed  of  the  butterflies, 
The  happy  birds,  the  busy  bees,  the  lovely,  deep- 
blue  skies, 

And  the  drowsy  songs  of  babbling  brooks ; 
He  dreamed  of  everything  —  but  books. 

He  knew  that  down  in  the  sunny  vales  the  cow 
slips  were  in  bloom, 

And  he  fancied  he  could  almost  smell  the  blue 
bells'  faint  perfume ; 

And  he  dreamed  he  wandered  gaily  through 
The  woods  where  the  sweet  May-apples  grew. 

And  by  and  by  a  robin  came  and  perched  upon 

a  tree 
Close   by  the  schoolhouse   window,  where   the 

dreaming  boy  could  see; 
And  he  said,  "  I  '11  pretend  I  Ve  got  a  gun," 
As  boys  will  often  do  in  fun. 

And  quite  forgetting  he  sat  in  school,  he  aimed 
his  finger  straight 

At  the  happy  bird  that  swung  outside,  not  think 
ing  of  its  fate, 

196 


A  Day-Dream 

Till   the   boy   whose    aim    was   fixed,    cried, 

"Bang!" 
And  the  loud  report  through  the  schoolroom 

rang. 

The  scholars  were  greatly  scared,  of  course,  but 

the  robin  flew  away, 
And  the  boy  who  had  wandered  in  a  dream  got 

no  recess  that  day ; 

And  the  teacher  then  laid  down  the  rule : 
"  Bird-shooting  not  allowed  in  school." 


197 


A   HAPPY   FAMILY 

T    KNOW  a  happy  family  of  cunning  boys  and 

girls, 
Who  have  such  round  and  rosy  cheeks  and  pretty, 

golden  curls. 
In  all  that  they  may  have  to  do  they  pleasantly 

agree, 
And  every  one  of  them  is  kind  and  good  as  good 

can  be. 

They  never  call  each  other  names,  nor  pull  each 

other's  hair, 
Nor  find  the  slightest  bit  of  fault  with  what  they 

have  to  wear. 
They  never  cry  at  night  because  they  have  to  go 

to  bed, 
Nor  ever  frown  at  any  one,  no   matter  what  is 

said. 

Not  one  of  them  was  ever  known  to  try  to  tease 

the  cat, 
Or  even  have  a  wish  to  do  a  naughty  deed  like 

that. 

198 


A  Happy  Family 

When  they  are  asked  to  do  a  thing,  they  never 

say  "  I  sha'n't !  " 
Because  they  're  dolls,  these  boys  and  girls,  and 

so,  you  see,  they  can't. 


199 


THE  LIFE    SCHOOL 

"I\  yTY  little  boy  came  from  his  school  to-day 
*•    -      With  his  heart  in  a  flurry  of  glee : 
"  O  papa !  they  Ve  taken  our  pencils  away, 

And  I  'm  writing  with  ink ! "  said  he. 
And  his  breast  is  filled  with  a  manly  pride, 

For  it  joys  him  much  to  think 
He  has  laid  his  pencil  and  slate  aside, 

And  is  writing  his  words  in  ink. 

O  innocent  child !   Could  you  guess  the  truth 

You  would  ask  of  the  years  to  stay 
Mid  the  slate  and  pencil  cares  of  youth 

That  a  tear  will  wash  away ; 
For  out  in  the  great,  wide  world  of  men 

The  wrongs  we  may  do  or  think 
Can  never  be  blotted  out  again, 

For  we  write  them  all  in  ink. 


200 


I   WISH   AND    I   WILL 

T  WISH  and  I  Will,  so  my  grandmother  says, 

•*•      Were  two  little  boys  in  the  long-ago, 

And  I   Wish  used  to  sigh  while  I  Will  used  to 

try 

For  the  things  he  desired,  at  least  that's  what  my 
Grandma  tells  me,  and  she  ought  to  know. 

I  Wish  was  so  weak,  so  my  grandmother  says, 
That  he  longed  to  have  some  one  to  help  him 

about, 

And  while  he  'd  stand  still  and  look  up  at  the  hill 
And  sigh  to  be  there  to  go  coasting,  I  Will 
Would  glide  past  him  with  many  a  shout. 

They  grew  to  be  men,  so  my  grandmother  says, 
And  all  that  I  Wish  ever  did  was  to  dream,  — 
To  dream  and  to  sigh  that  life's  hill  was  so  high, 
While  I  Will  went  to  work  and  soon  learned,  if 

we  try, 
Hills  are  never  so  steep  as  they  seem. 

2OI 


I  Wish  and  I  Will 

I  Wish  lived  in  want,  so  my  grandmother  says, 

But  I  Will  had  enough  and  a  portion  to  spare ; 
Whatever  he    thought   was    worth    winning    he 

sought 
With    an    earnest    and    patient    endeavor    that 

brought 
Of  blessings  a  bountiful  share. 

And  whenever  my  grandma  hears  any  one  "  wish," 
A  method  she  seeks  in  his  mind  to  instill 

For   increasing    his  joys,    and    she   straightway 
employs 

The  lesson  she  learned  from  the  two  little  boys 
Whose  names  were  I  Wish  and  I  Will. 


202 


THE   WAY  TO   SLEEPYTOWN 

TT7HICH  is  the  way  to  Sleepytown? 

Look  in  the  blinking  eyes  of  brown ; 
Or  you  may  find  the  misty  track 
Hid  in  the  half-closed  eyes  of  black. 
Winding  about  and  in  and  through 
The  slumberous  eyes  of  dreamy  blue, 
Or  stealing  across  the  eyes  of  gray, 
Oh,  there  you  may  find  the  drowsy  way. 

Follow  along  the  crooked  street, 
Twisting  about  two  tired  feet  — • 
Feet  that  the  whole  day  through  have  trod 
Paths  that  led  to  the  Land  of  Nod ; 
Keep  on  going  until  you  come 
To  weary  fingers  and  weary  thumb, 
Or  the  lips  within  whose  gates  of  pearl 
Is  the  languid  tongue  of  a  boy  or  girl. 

The  path  you  seek  will  lead,  mayhap, 
Into  the  peace  of  a  downy  lap, 
Where  angels  have  sprinkled  the  dews  of  rest 
In  a  gracious  cradle  of  arms  and  breast. 
203 


The  Way  to  Sleepytown 

Farther  on  and  the  way  has  led 
To  the  calm  of  a  prayer-encircled  bed, 
Where  mother  is  kissing  the  eyelids  down, 
And  that  is  the  way  to  Sleepytown. 


204 


MY  OLD   HOBBY-HORSE 

TT  is  only  a  well-worn  hobby-horse, 
•*•     And  you  never  would  guess,  to  see 
This  battered  toy  of  a  careless  boy, 

It  could  seem  so  much  to  me. 
For  never  a  steed  of  the  highest  breed 

Was  ever  one  half  so  fine, 
Or  half  so  fair  as  is  this  rare 

Old  hobby-horse  of  mine. 

But  the  little  boy  who  rode  this  steed 

Has  finished  his  happy  play, 
And,  smiling,  gone  through  the  gates  of  dawn, 

To  the  land  of  the  Far- Away. 
And  the  horse  seems  sad  that  once  was  glad, 

As  he  rocked  o'er  hill  and  lea, 
And  crossed  the  streams  in  the  land  of  dreams 

To  the  world  that  was  to  be. 

And  I  often  muse  as  he  waiting  stands 
For  the  rider  who  does  not  come, 

Would  his  heart  rejoice  could  he  hear  a  voice 
And  the  sound  of  a  noisy  drum? 
205 


My  Old  Hobby-Horse 

And  my  soul,  some  day,  shall  steal  away, 
And  we'll  ride  to  the  Hills  of  Joy, 

Where  I  '11  place  the  rein  in  the  hands  again 
Of  the  little,  laughing  boy. 


206 


THE  JOY-BRINGER 

"PLEASE    don't    wake    the     baby!"      His 

•*•  mamma  repeats  it 

A  great  many  times,  but  he  carelessly  greets  it, 
For  how  can  a  boy  who  is  happy  and  healthy 
Go  creeping  about  in  a  way  that  is  stealthy? 
And  so  in  the  midst  of  the  calm  and  the  quiet 
He  comes  through  the  house  with  the  din  of  a 

riot, 

And  warningly  shouts,  mid  his  wonderful  drum 
ming, 
"  Det  out  of  ze  way,  for  ze  army 's  a-tumming !  " 

The  "  army "  is  promptly  suppressed.     The  up 
rising 

Though  earnestly  brought  is  not  really  surprising ; 
But  all  are  aware  it  is  but  a  deflection 
And  sure  to  break  out  in  some  other  direction. 
And  so  in  a  moment  we  rudely  awaken,  — 
The  house  to  its  very  foundation  is  shaken,  — 
207 


The  Joy-Bringer 


"  Look   out   for    ze    fire ! "   exclaims   the   fierce 

rover,  — 
"  Ze    engine 's    a-tumming,    you  '11    det    runded 

over !  " 

The  fire   is   put   out,   and   sweet   silence  comes 

stealing 

Among  all  the  bruises  of  sound  with  its  healing. 
The  baby  half  dozes  in  innocent  slumber, 
When  lo  !  there  are  heard  awful  sounds  without 

number: 

Bass,  alto  and  tenor,  drum,  fife  and  triangle, 
All  tortured  and  crushed  in  one  terrible  tangle, 
As  the  drum-major  cries,  mid  the  horns'  awful 

braying, 
"  Everybody  teep  still,  for  ze  band  is  a-playing !  " 

All  those  who  have  dwelt  with  a  boy,  and  those 

only 

Who  now  are  without  him,  can  tell  us  how  lonely 
A  home  may  become,  how  distressed  and  how 

darkened, 
When  stilled    is   the    music   to   which   we   have 

hearkened. 

208 


The  Joy-Bringer 

And  so  in  the  night,  with  the  lamplight  low 
beaming, 

Across  the  snug  cot  where  my  babies  are  dream 
ing* 

I  thank  the  good  Lord  that  still  safe  in  His 
keeping 

My  army  and  engine  and  brass  band  is  sleeping. 


209 


SINCE   PAPA   DOESN'T  DRINK 

"I\yTY  papa's  awful  happy  now,  and  mamma's 

•*•    -**         happy,  too, 

Because  my  papa  drinks  no  more  the  way  he 

used  to  do. 
And   everything's    so  jolly  now  —  't  ain't  like  it 

used  to  be 
When  papa   never   stayed   at   home   with   poor 

mamma  and  me. 

It  made  me  feel  so  very  bad  to  see  my  mamma 

cry, 
And  though  she  'd   smile   I  'd   spy  the  tears  a- 

hiding  in  her  eye. 
But  now  she  laughs  just  like  we  girls  —  it  sounds 

so  cute,  I  think  — 
And  sings  such  pretty  little  songs  —  since  papa 

does  n't  drink. 

You  ought  to  see  my  Sunday  dress  —  it 's  every 

bit  all  new,  — 
It  ain't  made  out  of  mamma's  dress,  the  way  she 

used  to  do. 

210 


Since  Papa  does  n't  Drink 

And  mamma's  got  a  pretty  cloak   all   trimmed 

with  funny  fur, 
And  papa  's  got  some  nice,  new  clothes  and  goes 

to  church  with  her. 

My  papa  says   that   Christmas-time   will   pretty 

soon  be  here, 
And  maybe  good  old  Santa  Claus  will  find  our 

house  this  year. 
I  hope  he  '11  bring  some  candy  and  a  dolly  that 

can  wink ; 
He'll  know  where  our  home  is,  I'm  sure  —  since 

papa  doesn't  drink. 


211 


"DON'T!" 

T  MIGHT  have  just  the  mostest  fun 

If  'twas  n't  for  a  word, 
I  think  the  very  worstest  one 

'At  ever  I  have  heard. 
I  wish  'at  it  'u'd  go  away, 

But  I'm  afraid  it  won't; 
I  s'pose  'at  it  '11  always  stay  — 

That  awful  word  of  "  don't." 

It 's  "  Don't  you  make  a  bit  of  noise ;  " 

And  "  Don't  go  out-of-door;  " 
And  "  Don't  you  spread  your  stock  of  toys 

About  the  parlor  floor;  " 
And  "  Don't  you  dare  play  in  the  dust;  " 

And  "  Don't  you  tease  the  cat;  " 
And  "  Don't  you  get  your  clothing  mussed ; 

And  "  Don't "  do  this  and  that. 

It  seems  to  me  I  've  never  found 

A  thing  I  'd  like  to  do 
But  what  there 's  some  one  else  around 

'At 's  got  a  "  don't "  or  two. 

212 


"  Don't  !  " 

And  Sunday  —  'at's  the  day  'at  "don't" 

Is  worst  of  all  the  seven. 
Oh,  goodness  !  but  I  hope  there  won't 

Be  any  "  don'ts  "  in  heaven  ! 


213 


THE   CHILD   AND    THE   BUTTERFLY 

BUTTERFLY,  how  do  you,  pray, 
Your  wings  so  prettily  array? 
Where  do  you  find  the  paints  from  which 
To  mix  your  colors  warm  and  rich?  " 

The  butterfly,  in  answer,  said : 
"  The  roses  lend  me  pink  and  red, 
The  violets  their  deepest  blue, 
And  every  flower  its  chosen  hue. 

"  My  palette  is  a  rose-leaf  fair, 
My  brush  is  formed  of  maiden-hair, 
And  dewdrops  shining  in  the  grass 
Serve  nicely  for  my  looking-glass." 


214 


MY  UNCLE   CHARLEY 

1% /TY  Uncle  Charley  he  ain't  got  no  children  of 

his  own, 
Nor  any  wife  nor  parentses,  but  just   lives   all 

alone ! 
It  must  seem  awful  quiet  'cause  he  says  he  likes 

the  noise 
'At  makes  so   many  growed-up  folks  find  fault 

with  little  boys. 
He  says  they  ought  to  run  an'  play  an*  holler  all 

they  will ; 
A  boy  won't  grow  a  mite,  he  says,  'at  has  to  keep 

so  still. 
An'  Chris'mus-time  he  buys  us  horns  an'  squawky 

things  an'  drums, 
An'  ma  she  lets  us  have  'em,  too,  when  Uncle 

Charley  comes. 

He  says  sweet  things  won't  hurt  your  teeth  as 

much  as  parents  say, 
An'  s'pose  they  do,  boys  has  to  lose  their  first 

ones  anyway. 

2I5 


My  Uncle  Charley 

He  says  that 's  why  we  ought  to  eat  just  all  'at 

we  can  get 
Of  sugar-candy  things  before  we  grow  our  second 

set. 
So  every  time  he  visits  us   my  Uncle  Charley 

brings 
His  pockets   running  over,  'most,  with   just  the 

nicest  things ! 
They's  candy-mice  an'   candy-men,   an'  lots  of 

sugar-plums ; 
It's  'most  as  good  as  Santy  Claus  when  Uncle 

Charley  comes. 

He  don't  think  little  boys  an'  girls  should  go  to 

bed  so  soon, 
But  says  they  ought  to  stay  up  late  an'  sleep  till 

nearly  noon, 
So  when  he  comes  to  our  house,  ma,  she  lets  us 

have  our  way 
An'  us  an'  Uncle  Charley,  we  all  play  an*  play  an' 

play. 
He  barks  just  like  a  dog  an'  makes  our  old  cat 

growl  an'  spit ! 
He  knows  the  mostest  funny  tricks  !     An'  when 

the  lamp  is  lit 

216 


My  Uncle  Charley 

He  makes  us  shadow-pictures  with  his  fingers  an' 

his  thumbs ; 
It 's    good    as    going   to    a   show   when    Uncle 

Charley  comes. 

But  sometimes  ma,  she  says  she  bets   if  Uncle 

Charley  had 
A  half-a-dozen  boys  an'  girls  all  carrying  on  like 

mad, 
An'  turning  things  all  upside  down  an'  crisscross, 

every  day, 
He  'd  want  to  pack  his  trunk  right  off  an'  hurry 

far  away. 
But  one  time  when  our  neighbor's  boy  was  awful 

sick  an'  died, 
Ma  hugged  an'  kissed  us,  every  one,  an'  cried  an' 

cried  an'  cried, 
Nor  said  a  word  when  we  was  bad  an'  scattered 

cookie  crumbs, 
But  cuddled  us  just  like  she  does  when  Uncle 

Charley  comes. 


217 


REGARDING  SANTA  GLAUS 

"DOB  JONES  who  lives  across  the  street  says 

•^         there  ain't  no  such  thing 

As  Santa  Glaus ;  he  says  that  it 's  your  pa  and 

ma  that  bring 
The  gifts  you  get  at  Chris'mus-time,  but  our  girl, 

Mary  Ann, 
Says  Bob  '11  know  a  whole  lot  more  when  he  's  a 

growed-up  man. 

She  says  that  Santa  Glaus  comes  down  the  chim 
ney  in  the  night 
And  goes  about  the  house  the  same  as  though 

he  had  a  light, 
And  oh,  so  still  you  could  n't  hear  no  matter  how 

you  hark ; 
I  '11  bet  our  cat  knows  when  he  comes,  'cause  cats 

see  in  the  dark. 

She  says  he  don't  make  no  mistakes  in  giving 

out  his  toys, 
And  never  heeds  the  stockings  hung  by  naughty 

girls  and  boys ; 

218 


Regarding  Santa  Claus 

And    them  that's    bad  'most  all    the  while   till 

Chris'mus-time  is  near, 
They  don't  get  such  nice  things  as   them  that 's 

proper  all  the  year. 
I  wish  I  'd  been  a  better  boy,  and  never  teased 

the  cat, 
Nor  stolen  jell  and  cookies,  and  a  lot  of  things 

like  that, 
But  every  day  till  Chris'mus  comes  good   Santa 

Claus  '11  see 
The  kind  of  boy  that  all  next  year  I  'm  going  to 

try  to  be. 

I  'm  going  to  hang  my  stocking  close  to  where 

my  sister  Kate 
Hangs  hers,  for    she's   so  good    and  kind  that 

Santa  Claus  '11  hate 
To  give  her  all  that  she  deserves  of  presents  nice 

and  fine, 
And  then  pass  by  and  never  put  a  single  one  in 

mine. 
I  kind  of  hope  Bob  Jones  is  right,  for  if  it 's  ma 

that  brings 
My  gifts,  instead  of  Santa  Claus,  I  'm  sure  I  '11 

get  the  things 

219 


Regarding  Santa  Claus 

She 's  heard  me  wishing  for ;  for  ma  's  so  good 

and  kind  and  dear 
She  '11    never    think    I  Ve    been    so    bad  when 

Chris'mus-time  is  here. 


220 


I   GOT  TO   GO   TO   SCHOOL 

T  'D  like  to  hunt  the  Injuns  'at  roam  the  bound- 

less  plain ! 

I  'd  like  to  be  a  pirate  an'  plough  the  ragin'  main  ! 
An'  capture  some  big  island,  in  lordly  pomp  to 

rule, 
But  I  just  can't  be  nothin'  'cause  I  got  to  go  to 

school. 

'Most  all  great  men,  so  I  have  read,  has  been  the 
ones  'at  got 

The  least  amount  o'  learnin'  by  a  flickerin'  pitch- 
pine  knot; 

An'  many  a  darin'  boy  like  me  grows  up  to  be  a 
fool, 

An'  never  'mounts  to  nothin'  'cause  he's  got  to 
go  to  school. 

I  'd  like  to  be  a  cowboy  an'  rope  the  Texas  steer ! 
I  'd    like   to    be    a   sleuth-houn'    er    a    bloody 

buccaneer! 
An'  leave  the  foe  to  welter  where  their  blood  had 

made  a  pool, 
But  how  kin  I  git  famous?  'cause  I  got  to  go  to 

school. 

221 


I  Got  to  Go  to  School 

I  don't  see  how  my  parents  kin  make  the  big 

mistake 
O'  keepin'  down  a  boy  like  me  'at 's  got  a  name 

to  make. 

It  ain't  no  wonder  boys  is  bad  an'  balky  as  a  mule ; 
Life  ain't  worth  livin'  if  you  've  got  to  waste  your 

time  in  school. 

I  'd  like  to  be  regarded  as  "  The  Terror  of  the 

Plains ! " 
I  'd  like  to  hear  my  victims  shriek  an'  clank  their 

prison-chains ! 
I  'd  like  to  face  the  enemy  with  gaze  serene  an' 

cool, 
An'  wipe  'em  off  the  earth  !  but,  pshaw !  I  got  to 

go  to  school. 

What  good  is  'rithmatic  an'  things  exceptin'  just 

fer  girls 
Er  them   there  Fauntleroys  'at  wears  their  hair 

in  twisted  curls? 
An'  if  my  name  is  never  seen  on  hist'ry's  page, 

why,  you  '11 
Remember  'at  it 's  all  just  'cause  I  got  to  go  to 

school 

222 


THE   SECOND   TABLE 

OOME  boys  are  mad  when  comp'ny  comes  to 

^         stay  for  meals.     They  hate 

To  have  the  other  people  eat  while  boys  must 

wait  and  wait. 
But  I  Ve  about  made  up  my  mind  I  'm  different 

from  the  rest, 
For,  as  for  me,  I  b'lieve  I  like  the  second  table 

best. 

To  eat  along  with  comp'ny  is  so  trying,  for  it 's 

tough 
To  sit  and  watch  the  victuals  when  you  dassent 

touch  the  stuff. 
You  see  your  father  serving  out  the  dark  meat 

and  the  light 
Until  a  boy  is  sure  he  '11  starve  before  he  gets  a 

bite. 

And   when   he   asks   you   what  you'll   have, — 

you  Ve  heard  it  all  before,  — 
You  know  you  '11  get  just  what  you  get  and  won't 

get  nothing  more; 

223 


The  Second  Table 

For  when  you  want  another  piece  your  mother 

winks  her  eye, 
And  so  you  say,  "  I've  plenty,  thanks,"  and  tell 

a  whopping  lie. 


When  comp'ny  is  a-watching  you,  you  've  got  to 

be  polite, 
And  eat  your  victuals  with  a  fork  and  take  a  little 

bite. 
You   can't  have  nothing  till  you're  asked  and, 

'cause  a  boy  is  small, 
Folks   think   he    is  n't   hungry,    and   he 's  never 

asked  at  all. 


Since  I  can  first  remember  I  Ve  been  told  that 

when  the  cake 
Is  passed  around,  the  proper  thing  is  for  a  boy  to 

take 
The  piece  that 's  nearest  to  him,  and  so  all  I  ever 

got, 
When  comp'ny 's  been  to  our   house,   was   the 

smallest  in  the  lot. 

224 


The  Second  Table 

It  worries  boys  like  everything  to  have  the  comp'ny 

stay 
A-setting  round  the  table  like  they  could  n't  get 

away. 
But  when  they've  gone  and  left  the  whole  big 

shooting-match  to  me, 
Say !  ain't  it  fun  to  just  wade  in  and  help  myself? 

Oh,  gee ! 

With  no  one  round  to  notice  what  you  're  doing 

—  bet  your  life  !  — 
Boys   don't  use   forks  to  eat  with  when  they'd 

rather  use  a  knife, 
Nor  take  such  little  bites  as  when  they  're  eating 

with  the  rest, 
And  so,  for  lots  of  things,  I  like  the  second  table 

best. 


225 


BROKEN    DOLLS 

T%yTY  baby's  dolls  are  broken,  — there  's  a  miss- 

ing  leg  or  arm, 
And  one,  indeed,  has  lost  her  head,  but  none  has 

lost  its  charm ; 
For  be  they  old,  or  be  they  new,  or  be  they  large 

or  small, 
Within  her  heart  so  warm  and  true  she  keeps  and 

loves  them  all. 

How  like  a  mother's  perfect  love,  for  though  her 

children  mar 
And  bruise  their  precious  hands  and  hearts  with 

many  a  stain  and  scar, 
In  Hope's  deserted  playhouse,  rilled  with  shattered 

lives  of  men, 
She  gathers  all  her  broken  dolls  and  kisses  them 

again. 


226 


THIS  BOOK  WAS  PRINTED  BY 
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PRESS,  CHICAGO,  FOR  FORBES 
AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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MAR  SI  1931 
AUG    1    1932 


A  boo.: 


5UZT 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


